The Woman, the Man, and the Serpent (original title: Taking Liberties)
by sojunari
Summary: Every time that Christina Pierce has tangled with the Winter Soldier. (Pre-CA:TWS, The Asset has a thing for the boss' daughter— when he remembers her anyway, sometimes even when he doesn't. Enhanced senses are enhanced. Warning: dubious consent due to identity issues, brainwashed people cannot consent!) Part 1 of the "Of Arils (and Other Forbidden Fruit)" series.
1. The Boss Man's Daughter

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from the MCU. Obviously._

* * *

 _Christina Pierce thinks perhaps her unhealthy attraction to the Winter Soldier stems from their first ever encounter, but she's pretty sure other people would just call it a 'savior complex relationship'._

 _Or, the Winter Soldier meets the boss man's daughter._

* * *

The very first time Christina Pierce meets the Winter Soldier it's mid-2008 and she's only twenty-three years old, a law student at Georgetown University, with no fucking clue why the hell she's in the back of a van with a bag over her head. She's got to admit, she's pretty fucking terrified.

Unbeknownst to her at this point, her father— Alexander Pierce— is the new face of HYDRA, and his daughter has just become undeniably tangled in the terrorist organization's strings. Not that she knows what the hell is going on, it was just an average morning until she got snatched on her way to the metro rail.

Christina woke up that morning like she does every morning. She rolled her ass out of bed, started coffee, hopped in the shower. Let her long blonde hair air dry while drinking her coffee and eating her selected baked-good of the day from that bakery down the street . She wriggled into the outfit she'd laid out the night before— a navy and white color block blouse and a pair of skinny jeans— and applied her daily, basic makeup of foundation and mascara.

She'd left her apartment a quarter to eight and was making her way down the street to the nearest rail platform when someone had covered her hand with a gloved mouth and pulled her into the open door of a passing van. Christina hadn't even had enough time to scream in protest.

Trapped in the back of a moving van, she can hear people rattling on in a language she didn't recognize, something Eastern European. Christina can hear them repeating orders, though not understand the meaning. Eventually the van screeches to a stop and she's yanked to her feet, the bag over her head doing nothing to help her sense of direction.

She can hear the echoing of what she thinks must be the inside of a warehouse, feels insistent hands guiding her further inside. They don't make it much further into the building when the shots ring out, loud and jarring, reverberating in the space of warehouse. Someone slams her into a wall, forcing her to the ground. The concrete bites her knees, even in her denim jeans. Christina makes herself small, tries to free her arms from where their secured behind her in what she assumes is a zip tie.

People are screaming and running and gun fire is ringing through the air. It doesn't last for long though, not five minutes pass and the building becomes quiet again. No one is holding her down anymore, so she scrambles up from her feet, nearly falling over in her haste. She decides this is a mistake when she hears the marching of combat boots against the concrete.

Christina presses herself back into the wall as a gloved hand reaches out to pull the bag off of her head. In the dim light she sees steel blue eyes staring back at her from the cover of long dark hair. A mask, like a muzzle, adorns the bottom half of the man's face and his left arm is a metal cybernetic prosthetic. Oh god, she thinks, suddenly filled with terror, she knows exactly who this man is.

She can't decide if the Winter Soldier had saved her or is here to kill her. She isn't given much further time to figure it out though, when he reaches out and throws her, arms still secured with a zip tie, over his shoulder. A scream rips from her throat, kicking and struggling all the way to the black motorcycle parked behind the warehouse.

The man clad in all black tactical gear sets her on her feet and then frees her arms with a military grade knife that'd been secured at his waist. The instant her struggling begins he clamps the metal hand over both of her wrist and snaps a cold, even " _Be good_ ," at her. He pulls her onto the motorcycle in front of him, her thighs pressing into the warm gas tank as he speeds down the road toward an unknown location. In a short while they pull at a different warehouse where a military team awaits them in two vehicles.

Christina recognizes a S.H.I.E.L.D. S.T.R.I.K.E. Team member named Brock Rumlow waiting for them. Her savior reports to him, giving a brief but detailed mission report, before getting back onto his motorcycle and following one of the black vehicles out of the warehouse. "Your father will want to see you," Agent Rumlow says.

In the second black vehicle Rumlow and three other armed agents escort her to a secure location they keep referring to as The Vault. Christina is a little surprised when they arrive at a private bank. Needless to say it isn't actually a financial institution. Below ground in the covert base, she pauses in the hallway where the emblem of a skull encompassed by six serpent-like legs is painted in red. She doesn't need to be told where she is, she knows now.

She's taken to where her father is in the medical bay, debriefing the man who'd saved her. Only the man, an armed guard, a doctor, and her father are inside. When she and Agent Rumlow enter, the guard leaves. "Christina, sweetheart, I was worried." Alexander Pierce admits, giving his twenty-three year old daughter a hug. "Who were those people, dad?" She questions, clearly shaken up as she casts a glance at the dark haired soldier. "Just a few men who were looking to settle a score with me and this organization. The Asset took care of them."

Christina is inspected for injuries by the doctor, who afterwards looks over the Winter Soldier. Her father talks with the doctor and Rumlow the entire time, while the Soldier says nothing. He doesn't move, he barely blinks. She watches him with curious eyes and is able to admire his handsome face now that the mask is no longer in place.

The three of them eventually leave the room, still talking, expecting that Christina will follow. She instead remains planted standing a few feet from the Winter Soldier, knowing full well that he's a deadly weapon. She'd always enjoyed her share of conspiracy theories and before her stood the subject of the truest one. Yet a part of her feels compelled to thank him from saving her from whoever had kidnapped her.

Strutting over to the Soldier with as much confidence as she should can muster, Christina pauses an arm's length from him. What's she supposed to say? _Thanks for slaughtering my abductors? Thanks for rescuing me, prince charming?_ She sure as hell has no clue, but both of those would have been better than attempting to press a kiss to a wary assassin's cheek. A metal hand closes instantaneously closes around Christina's neck, clamping over her windpipe and hindering her breathing. And, what the fuck does she do instead of panic, or struggle, or attempt to beg for her life? Press a kiss to his mouth instead.

The Winter Soldier freezes, grip going slack around her pale throat, and taking in the sensation of her mouth against his. He feels compelled to close his eyes, but doesn't. His superior— her father— could return any second, and he feels such an interaction with her would warrant punishment for him. The woman pulls back from his lips and looks at him in a combination of thrill and arousal. The scent hits him all of a sudden and has him reeling as he stares at the reddening mark around her neck. He'd been expecting fear.

Christina steps back from him just moments before Agent Rumlow returns to the room, "Miss Pierce," He calls, eyeing the Winter Soldier, "Your father wants to bring you home." And without so much as a second glance at the man who'd saved her, she joins her father in the hall and leaves the Soldier behind wondering why the hell she'd kissed and why he wanted her to again.

In the car on her way to her father's home, where she would stay as a security measure until something could be arranged, Christina mentions him. "He wasn't what I was expecting." She says to her father, who is reading over a file beside her in the back seat. "Who?" She turns to look out the window, reaching up to touch the forming bruise on her neck. "The Winter Soldier."

Her father casts her a sidelong look, an eyebrow arched. "Which is what?" Christina shrugs, "I don't know. Scarier? Uglier maybe?" Alexander Pierce removes his glasses, setting his paperwork on his lap. "The asset isn't one of your little toys, Christina. He's a machine." Scolds her father, looking more serious than she's ever seen him. "Yes, father."


	2. I Think I Might Remember You

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from the MCU. Obviously._

* * *

 _Christina visits The Vault and is horrified by what she finds._

 _Or, the Winter Soldier is fond of Christina's sheer top and also the bruises he left on her neck, even if he can't quite remember leaving them there._

* * *

A short three days later Christina rides behind the shield of tinted windows, making her way toward a meeting with her father. An agent named Jack Rollins drives the sleek black BMW to the secure location known as The Vault, a bank converted into an underground HYDRA base in the middle of Washington, D.C.

The agent clears Christina to enter the covert operations base, leading her passed the legitimate-looking teller floor, filled with busy employees keeping true to the ruse, and into the elevator that would take them below ground to the operations division.

The moment the elevator door pings open she can hear it, a horrifying scream ringing down the corridor and echoing off the faded walls. Christina shudders, she can feel Rollins observing her, so her keeps her expression controlled, but can feel the fear resonating in the pit on her stomach. They find her father in a bank vault, behind iron bars, the room full of armed guards who's attention is focused on the Winter Soldier.

The Asset is strapped into a horrifying looking chair, a mouth guard between his teeth and a brace with two metal plates locked around his head, connected to into with a spinning apparatus above him. Christina can hear the electricity cracking in the metal plates over the left side of his face. The spinning of the apparatus overhead slows to a stop, the machine powering down, and the plates unlock, moving away from his face. A technician comes forward as the Soldier sits up, breathing heavily, and removes the mouth guard from between his teeth. He levels Alexander Pierce with an empty gaze as the older man questions, "Status?" and with cold, dead eyes the Winter Soldier replies, "Ready to comply."

Christina still has chills running down her spine when her father leads her out of the bank vault, where the agent named Rumlow remains briefing the Asset on his next mission. Pierce leads her into another room a couple of doors down, the two of them followed closely by Agent Rollins. The room is set up like an interrogation room in a police station, but with different furniture. One room is spacious and flanked with all different kinds of equipment, there is a treatment chair like one might find in a doctor's office and an observation window. Inside the observation room there is a conference table surrounded by numerous chairs. Her father takes a seat at the head of the table, the agent taking the seat to his right, so Christina follows his lead and sits to her father's left, directly across from Rollins.

"As you're now aware, I'm running a very confidential operation here, Christina." Her father begins. _Obviously, dad._ She nods as he continues, "After the incident that occurred with your kidnapping a few days ago I realize that keeping this from you is no longer on the table, especially now that you've met the Winter Soldier." There's a serious look on his face as he speaks and it's darker more sinister than she's ever seen her father look in all her years.

"I trust you understand knowledge of both this operation and the Asset's existence are highly classified?" Christina nods her head, "And, that revealing this knowledge to anyone will warrant their termination." Her blood runs cold, but she nods again. "If you speak of this to anyone, I mean _anyone_ , the Winter Soldier will be sent to eliminate them, do you understand?" She thinks about her friends and family members and quickly agrees. "Yes, father."

"Good. Agent Rollins here, has set up a security detail that will be guarding you until the time we conclude there is no further threat to your safety. They've been tasked to put up a perimeter around your apartment and take you any place you need to go." She listens to her father rattling on, but barely hears him. All she can think about is how everything she thought she knew is a lie.

"Agents Pavlov and Wagner will be escorting you during the day. Agents Braun and Lynch will have night duty." Rollins explains, sliding a manila folder containing a page-long file for each of her four guards. "Once they return from setting up the perimeter, Rollins will introduce them."

They'd been speaking as a team of guards had directed the Winter Soldier into the adjacent room and situating him into the treatment chair. They close the door behind them, leaving the Asset alone in the room filled with quietly humming machines, and standing guard from outside. Through the observation window the Soldier can see three people seated at the table in the other room. They aren't paying him any attention, though the blonde haired woman had shot him a brief glance as he'd been lead inside.

As he watches her speak to his superior, slivers of recognition file through the crowded slot of his mangled memory. The Asset recalls something about her mouth. He never retains much after the Chair but for some reason he remembers her mouth. He looks her over, top to bottom, and tries to stimulate the traces of the memory. She's dressed in a navy blue turtleneck, sheer enough that he can see the outline of her bra underneath, tucked into fitted black slacks. A part of him thinks that she's pretty. He remembers pink lips on his own and his left hand on her neck, the weapon clutching her slim throat, painting the pale column of her flesh with angry purple bruises. She kisses him anyway, then the memory slips through his fingers and disappears.

Agent Rumlow enters the room where Christina, her father, and Rollins are seated calling the two men out into the hall and leaving her seated unsupervised in the observation room. The blonde turns back to the Winter Soldier, shooting a hesitant glance out to where her father is in a focused discussion with the two agents, before strolling out of her seat and into the adjacent room.

"There's my hero," Christina says playfully, trying to make light of the situation despite what she'd witnessed in the bank vault. The Asset is stiff in his seat, posture rigid, clearly on guard despite the grin on her pink mouth. She doesn't talk about the vault or the Chair, but he sees her eyes wandering over him and knows that must be what she's thinking about.

Christina comes closer, but keeps out of arm's reach, not keen to repeat their last encounter. She still feels his metal hand around her throat. He could easily have crushed her windpipe and sick as it as, a part of her was kind of turned on by that. Absentmindedly her hand finds it's way to her her turtleneck, tracing over the tender skin beneath her blouse, and for a second the Winter Soldier thinks he might remember her. The white and navy shirt, the blue of her jeans, the echo of her scream as he'd thrown her over his shoulder. He thinks he might know her, the pink of her lips on his mouth, his metal hand closed around her neck.

He reached out again, slower than the last, and touches the cold silver fingers to the bruised column of her throat. Christina feels the air leave her in a sigh of an exhale, the silver digits dragging down her collar and revealing the dark, yellowing bruise. It's a few days old now, but he thinks he remembers how red it was after he left it. How much he'd liked the look of it there. He can't be sure, every time he tries to grasp it, the memory slips away. "I did that." He says, knows, but she can see in his eyes that it's a question.

The woman nods, clutching his wrist, but doesn't remove his metal hand. The Asset lets it fall regardless, the turtleneck shifting back to cover the bruise, and his fingertips trace a line down the center of her chest, over the bra he can see through her sheer navy sweater. Down until his hand returns to his lap beside the flesh-and-bone one. With his heightened sense of smell he breathes in the scent of fruit and fresh linens, and something else, something sweeter. The Asset looks at her eyes, wide, Cerulean blue. She smells good, he thinks, unafraid.

He doesn't remember choking her she realizes, even though it'd only been a few days. The Winter Soldier looks at her with cold, unyielding eyes. No recognition shows in the steel blue-grey, but he watches her, takes her in from head to toe, wets his lips with his pink tongue. For a second she's sure he'd remembered, but the moment passes. Behind her the door opens and her father steps in, flanked on either side by a technician, a scientist, and a doctor. The Soldier sits straighter in his seat. "Christina," Pierce says, voice authoritative, "Time to go."

In the car, riding in the back seat beside her father again, she mentions it. "He didn't remember me." Christina says and Alexander Pierce gives her this look that says _of course not_ , "He wouldn't." She's pretty sure the freaky torture chair has something to do with it.


	3. Got You Wrapped Around My Trigger Finger

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from the MCU, but I'm pretty sure you could guess that._

 _Raunchiness ahoy._

* * *

 _Note to self: your dad's house is not the place to be sucking off a professional assassin who could literally snap your neck._

* * *

A short week later Christina punches the pass-code into the security system of her father's home. One of her two evening guards, Everett Braun, follows her inside, arms laden with grocery bags. It's nearly four-thirty in the afternoon and they're meant to have dinner together, but instead of seeing the maid, Renata, or a set dinner table, she finds her father seated in the lounge across from a figure dressed in black fatigues and tact gear.

Alexander Pierce faces his daughter, looking cautious as he turns in his seat, but he relaxes when he realizes who it is. The Winter Soldier locks eyes with her as well, as if waiting for the order to take her out, but such an order never comes.

"And, dinner?" Christina merely questions, taking the grocery bags from Agent Braun and padding into the adjacent dining room. She knows she's interrupting, can feel the Asset's gaze on her as she moves about the house. "It will have to be later," Her father replies evenly, without missing a beat, as if there isn't a deadly assassin seated across from him. "I have a last minute World Council meeting to attend."

Christina nods, making her way into the kitchen and leaving the men to their meeting. Agent Braun returns to his post outside as she gets to work on prepping chicken for dinner. Whatever her father and the Winter Soldier are discussing, it's over quickly. Pierce bids his daughter farewell as he leaves, assuring her he'll return in a few short hours.

Assuming the house would now be empty, Christina makes her way toward the lounge to turn on the stereo, where she's met again by the gaze of the Winter Soldier. A few feet from the couch the Asset had stood watching her work. Forcing away that tiny twinge of fear at finding him still there, both of them alone in her father's home, she comes to stand an arm's length from him again.

"Need something, Soldier?" Christina jests, crossing her arms. The smile on her mouth confuses the Winter Soldier. People tend to react to him with fear, even she had when he'd pulled the bag off of her head back at the warehouse. But now she seems relaxed, joking even. He tilts his head and looks her over. She'd removed her knee length, camel-colored trench coat after she'd entered, revealing the lacy, high collared white blouse and the black striped skirt she wore. The bruise around her neck has mostly faded at this point, but it's still present enough that she opted for the high neck of her blouse.

The Soldier reaches out for her again, his memory singing as his fingers drag down the collar of her top, like he had the last time in The Vault. He'd been put on standby for further missions this time, instead of returning to cryo, so his memory is reeling with recognition. This time he remembers choking her, remembers her lips on his mouth. Wonders what it would feel like if she did it again.

"Do you remember this time?" She asks, voice soft, but void of any kind of emotion. Christina is curious, really. He seems different this time, less detached but still cold. The cold probably never leaves him, she assumes, he's an assassin after all. He nods, locks eyes with her, steel blue-grey on Cerulean before he looks at her mouth again. "Why did you kiss me?"

The Winter Soldier's voice is gruff, like it isn't used often, but it doesn't sound the way she expects. She must have heard it before, when Rumlow had wanted a mission report, but she'd been too shaken to pay attention. Or back in The Vault. Though his voice is deep, she'd imagined it would be deeper. It's the second time he's directly spoken to her, she realizes.

Christina's a little thrown. She doesn't really know why. She'd planned to kiss his cheek and thank him, but then he'd clamped that metal hand over her throat and she'd wanted to distract him. She shrugs, said metal hand still holding back her lacy collar. They're standing close she realizes, closer than a moment before. "To thank you I suppose. You're my savior after all. Why, do you want me to again?"

The Winter Soldier can hear the teasing tone of her reply and he fixes her with a steady glare. "I could have killed you, if I wanted." He says evenly and his fingers cup her neck again, but she doesn't flinch from him. Christina shrugs, despite the obvious threat that he could choke the life out of her, "I know, but you didn't."

She feels warm again, like she had in The Vault, with his hand around her throat. She shifts, tries to relieve the sudden thrumming pressure between her thighs. The Winter Soldier smells the change in her scent instantly. What is it about the fact that he could easily kill her in the blink of an eye that drew her to him? Christina wonders briefly if she might have autassassinophilia. "I don't think you wanted to kill me," She says and holds his glare. Her eyes are hooded, something about them different then when she'd walked in just moments ago. "I don't think you want to kill me now."

She appears to be right, as with a snarl the Asset pulls her in, his mouth clashing against hers. His stubble burns Christina's cheeks but she doesn't mind the sensation, enjoys it even, granted she's caught off guard by his sudden kiss. Her hands fist in the leather of his tactical gear, pulling him flush against her. Red flags are popping up in her mind because, fucking hell, she's making out with an assassin. He nips open her mouth, insistently pushes past her lips and his velvet tongue invades her mouth, sliding alongside hers.

Moaning into his mouth, Christina releases his clothes to weave her fingers into his hair. The Winter Soldier winds his flesh-and-bone arm around her waist, the other holding her pliant with a steady grip on her jaw. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much physical contact.

Before she even realizes it, she's caught in the heat of the moment, her hands releasing his hair as she moves her fingers over the snaps and straps on his chest. The tactical gear is too confusing, so she goes straight for the buckle of his belt instead. The Winter Soldier pulls back, draws her wrists into his hands and huffs for breath, "What are you doing?" His voice has dipped an octave, he sounds as hot as Christina feels and she leans up to peck at his lips again. "I want you to take this off."

The Asset raises a brow, keeps her arms trapped in his grip and breathes into her neck, but he doesn't push her away. "Does Pierce know you behave like this?" He questions, wondering how harshly he would be punished for being caught touching his superior's daughter. The blonde merely shrugs, "I'll try everything once, including you, if you like."

With a groan the Soldier decides maybe a little bit of punishment wouldn't be so bad if he could have her for the night. Christina leans up on her toes, pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and kisses him again. This time he lets her take off his utility belt and push him backwards onto the couch. He falls heavily into the cushions and instantly she straddles his lap, returning her mouth to his once more. She tastes like peppermint— from gum she'd chewed earlier— and she smells like fruit and the sweetness of arousal again.

Their mouths mash and meld together in feelings and rhythms that the Asset couldn't recall had existed. He's overwhelmed with some unknown emotion and it races through his system, making him impatient and warm under his collar. He can't recall having any intimate experience whatsoever. He doubts he'd ever felt anything so intoxicating in all his existence. His mind is blank as he acts purely on instincts he hadn't known he even possessed, holds her hips steady as he bucks his erection against her.

Fingers threading through his hair, Christina angles her head to better kiss him, tongues and teeth mashing in a methodical dance that the Soldier has no memory of ever learning. She fumbles with the button of his black fatigues, not removing her mouth from his as she lowers the zipper and pulls open his pants. Her hand dips into the band of his underwear, pumping his length under the material before pulling him free of his constraints.

The Winter Soldier releases her mouth with a hiss, involuntarily rolling his hips between her thighs. "You're wearing too much." He announces, voice raw with want. Christina grins, heaving herself off of his thighs to yank off her blouse and remove her skirt. She's wearing nude colored lingerie with sheer panels, black trim, and one tiny black bows anchored on the center of her bra and another on her matching panties. He turns a little red looking at the material, like a part of him knows how scandalous the garments are, regardless how attractive they may be.

"What do you want, Soldier? I'll touch you if you touch me." Christina says, standing there in her lingerie without even a hint of embarrassment written on her face. The Winter Soldier exhales, eyes clouded dark with fervor, "Want your mouth." With a smirk she drops to her knees, carpet biting the skin as he pushed his pants and underwear further down his thighs.

Kissing down his abdomen, she pauses right over his shaft, glancing up to take in his expectant eyes. His pupil's are blown, only a narrow ring of steel blue encompassing black as he stares hungrily at her. Christina presses a chaste kiss to the head of his length and wraps her hand around him. His left hand tangles in her long hair, a series of strangled, unintelligible noises escaping the Soldier. The grip of his metal hand is painful on her blonde locks, watching as her free hand palms his scrotum and she licks him from base to tip, her tongue moving over his skin in a steady stripe and then taking him into her mouth. His eyes practically roll back into his skull and his head falls back against the couch.

The Asset pushes her head down, both hands fisting in her long tresses, barely hearing her gag as he groans. He feels her swallow around his length, exhaling through her nose in a puff of breath that fans lightly over his abdomen. Christina steadies her palms on his thighs, relaxing her throat as best she can and sliding back off of his length. The Soldier nearly whimpers at the loss, sure that she's going to pull off of him. Instead she steadies his cock with one hand at his base and begins a steady bobbing movement down and back up his length.

The Winter Soldier forces himself not to close his eyes, burning glaze hooded as he watches her sucking on him exquisitely, breathing heavily as she returns her free hand to his scrotum. He doesn't bother exerting any effort not to push her down. He guides her head, metal hand white-knuckling in her hair as he moves his hips and revels in the gagging sounds. He'd stop if she fought, but she doesn't seem to mind, seems even more eager to please, in fact. Her jaw goes slack, lets him find his own rhythm and fuck into her mouth.

Christina's knees burn as she parts them wider, releases his scrotum and touching herself between her thighs. She gets off to him fucking her throat, toys at her clit as he moans. He sees her touching herself is even more aroused knowing she likes him being rough, he moans obscenely. She likes the sound. It's sick and probably so wrong, because he's still dangerous— could definitely kill her— and clearly has some kind of memory loss— he hadn't remembered her the last time they'd met. But, he seems to be enjoying himself, clearly comfortable enough to be holding her steady and fucking into her mouth.

The Soldier's moans change, his hips stuttering and then he's yanking Christina off of her knees and back into his lap. His blown pupils bore into hers, his cybernetic arm bending at the elbow and metal hand dipping beneath her panties. "Fuck," she curses, two cold fingers push into her her cunt and she whines. The Asset closes his flesh-and-blood hand around her throat and forces her to look him in the eye as he fingers her with his metal hand.

Her hands follow his previous example, burying in his brunette locks and yanking as his fingers speed up. A particularly hard tug makes him gasp, his neck bending back under the tension. Christina smirks, realizes he likes it and then repeats the motion. This time he moans loudly and begins shifting his metal arm faster, his wrist twisting and moving between her legs, fingers pumping into her so sweet that her back arches and she has to grip his shoulders.

The Winter Soldier doesn't feel the flutter of her walls around his fingers, but he can feel the warmth of her. And then, there it is. Her lips part in a high pitched cry, eyelashes fluttering closed against her cheek, and she stills for a long moment. Her back bowing so pretty for him and she sighs out before falling into his chest. He pulls his metal hand from between her thighs, tastes her slick on his fingers with a smirk as he holds her tired gaze.

The lopsided tilt of his mouth seems to motivate her, sinking back to her knees on the carpet before him, settling between his booted feet and keeping eye contact the whole while. Christina wraps her fingers around his length, pumps his hard cock with a pretty smile. He pushes his hips up, thrusting into her cute, pink, yielding mouth. Feeling her tongue swirl along his length, the Soldier holds her hair tight, biting his lower lip and releasing an uncut moan.

By now he's desperate to come, cock aching and balls so tight, that the Winter Soldier is sure he won't last but a few more thrusts. Christina moans, reaching up to return his prosthetic hand to her neck. That's all the assassin can take, he pulls her off his cock by the throat and squeezes carefully. With his flesh hand, he pumps his length, coming hard on her pretty face and painting her lips and cheek with spunk. He maintains eye contact with her as she holds her mouth open, tongue sticking out, and not pulling away until he's spent. The Asset slumps back against the couch, releasing his grip on her neck and panting hard.

After a moment of catching his breath, he tucks himself back into his clothes and returns his utility belt to his waist. The Winter Soldier looks to Christina, still sitting between his parted thighs, swallowing his come on her tongue and wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. He gives her with another dark look and the girl sits up, leaning over his lap to kiss him on the mouth. The assassin can taste himself on her tongue and he decides that he likes that, likes it a lot, wouldn't mind doing all of this again.

As the the Winter Soldier leaves Christina alone in her father's empty house, she quickly redresses, throwing herself down on the couch in her skirt and rumpled blouse. "What the hell are you thinking, Christina Gabrielle?" the twenty-three year old questions aloud, feeling honestly out of her mind. She could only imagine what kind of punishments they would receive if anyone ever found out what they were up to. That doesn't stop her from wondering if it would happen again.

* * *

 _I don't know why I'm writing this but I'm having a good time!  
Honestly I just want to dump a bunch of nfsw Winter Soldier prompts here, so welcome to the garbage everybody._


	4. (I'll Keep You My) Dirty Little Secret

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the MCU. Obviously._

* * *

 _Christina is beginning to wonder if her and the Winter Soldier have an exhibitionistic sex thing._

* * *

After the surprise fingerfucking/oral incident on her father's couch, Christina doesn't see the Asset for a month. She's kind of relieved. How is she supposed to act after being fingered to completion by the metal arm of a cold blooded assassin? She isn't sure, but eventually she isn't able to avoid their inevitable awkward meeting any longer. Which is how she ends up standing in another observation room with a number of technicians, waiting for her father. Why is she here again?

The Winter Soldier doesn't have any clue who the blonde woman standing on the other side of the glass is, but he knows that he recognizes her scent. Pomegranate, mango, and raspberry. Where has he smelled that before? She's looking at him out of the corner of her eye, nervous but not afraid. Had they met before?

When all the technicians finally file out and the guards return to their stations in the hall, the woman turns to watch him through the glass. The Asset becomes tense when the woman enters the room giving him a strained smile. "Long time no see, stranger." From her banter, no matter how awkward, he decides she must know him.

The Winter Soldier offers her no reply, only watching closely as she fiddles with the tie-front of her striped dress. "I see you're back to your chatty self." The brunette simply stares at her, unmoving, his steel blue eyes a vast abyss. He goes stiff when Christina sighs and pads over to him cautiously, tossing a glance over her shoulder to the observation window.

With a pretty grin the strange blonde woman leans up on her toes, palms reaching out to steady herself against his chest. The Asset becomes cautious, defensive. Why is this woman touching him? Christina tries to kiss him, pink lips puckered cutely, frowning when he traps her wrists in both of his hands and instantly backs her into the nearest wall.

"What no kiss?" The blonde gasps, trying to be playful despite the rough grip on her wrists. The Winter Soldier says nothing, but shoots her a steady glare. Her gaming mood seems to crack, grin falling a little. "You don't remember, do you?" questions Christina. He shakes his head, negative, and her smile falls completely. "Oh.. sorry." She attempts to move back from him, but her arms are still caught in his vice grip. The woman stills, seeming to recognize that he needs to regain control of the situation. Christina gets it, _do not attempt to kiss deadly brainwashed assassins, no matter what manner of trysts you may already have shared._

"This isn't the first time I've held you like this." The Winter Soldier says it's phrased like a statement, but that confusion is back, like when he'd mentioned her neck. Christina nods. His voice is that octave again. The same one on the couch a month ago and it makes her hot under her buttoned collar. Her wrists are still trapped in his arms, but it's not threatening anymore, it's more like the assassin is holding her there.

Christina presses her thighs together, uncomfortably warm as she tries once more to free her arms, but decides all attempts are in vain. The Asset keeps her pinned between the wall and himself and simply stares at her for a moment, thinking that somewhere in the vast abyss of his memory he remembers her pink mouth. Thinks perhaps he remembers her voice, _"I don't think you wanted to kill me, I don't think you want to kill me now."_ And, just as he tries to grip the memories back to the surface, they slip between his fingers and disappear.

His eyebrows are pinched tight, head angled downward, and breathing shallow, fanning over her neck. Christina wonders if he were trying to remember. Still in his hold, she turns her wrist to flatten her palms to his chest. The Soldier is pulled out of his reverie. "Where did you go?" asks the blonde, but he offers her no reply— unsurprisingly, but he gives her this burning look. Christina returns it with a look of her own, "Tell me what you want, Soldier." The Asset finds taking what he wants a lot easier.

Gloved hands— both metal and flesh— push the navy and white stripes of her dress up her thighs. The wall bites into her back as he presses forward into her and Christina hurries unbutton his fatigues. The Winter Soldier is unarmed this time, so neither of them have to worry over his utility belt laden with knives and guns. She yanks down his zipper as he admires her pretty lingerie.

A part of him thinks he might recall a similar nude tone of panty with black trim and little bows, but he can't be sure. These ones are a shade identical to her flesh, made entirely of lace, with another tiny ribbon anchored on the front. The Soldier gathers the delicate material in his metal hand and rips it from her, the material straining and tearing, eliciting a squeak from the blonde. She shoots him an annoyed look, muttering than underwear is expensive as she pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs.

The assassin captures her mouth in a hot kiss, abandoning her torn panties on the floor and burying his right hand between her thighs. Christina moans into his mouth, one hand coming up to thread into his brunette locks and the other lazily pumping his cock. This time she nips open his mouth, her tongue invades his mouth and it tastes like something sweet and salty— caramel, not that he would know that. The Asset grabs her face with his left hand, cold finger splayed on the side of her throat and metal thumb steadying her chin against his palm. He takes control of the kiss, less exploring than on her father's couch and more desperate need.

Christina tugs him rigid him her hand, her thighs falling wide for the two fingers buried deep between them. The Winter Soldier pulls back from their kiss with a smirk, works his hand in a way that has her keening into his the curve of his neck. He really does like the sounds she makes, the way she tugs roughly on his hair and and how his fingers slides easily inside her.

The Soldier is picking her up before Christina even realizes he's gathered his arms around her waist. Her shoulders bump the wall in their haste and her legs wrapping around his waist. One arm— the metal arm— wraps around her, keeping her anchored to his hips. The assassin fists his length in his flesh-and-bone hand, pumps it once before rubbing the head against her slick folds with a triumphant smirk. When he presses inside it practically drives the air from her lungs and she has to bite down on her lips to stiffle her loud moan.

He fills her up in a breathtaking fashion, all strong thighs and pounding hips. The Asset likes her little gasps in his ear, the way she bites her pink lips to quiet her needy moans. He likes that she smells like fruit and arousal, and a little bit like him now too. One of Christina's arms is thrown over his shoulder, clinging on for dear life as he rocks into her, leaving little red half moons on his shoulder blades. Her other hand yanks on his hair and the Soldier thinks that he likes that.

He leans down to leave a love bite under her collar, uses his free hand to fondle her breasts through her dress. His hips finds that sweet, _sweet_ spot inside that has her crying out and the hand that had been clinging releases him as if he'd burned her. She clamps it over her traitorus mouth in an attempt to muffle the little screams that each drive of his hips pulls from her. He moves hard and fast, until the bend of her knees are trembling and her thighs are burning from the exertion. Christina comes with her face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder, hand still clamped over her mouth.

The Winter Soldier ignores her orgasm in favor of chasing his own. The grip of his metal hand is bruising, the pace of his hips punishing. Her peak only intensifying as he chases his own high, she closes her eyes to keep them from rolling back in her skull. Her thighs tremble, but the assassin pays her no mind, slamming into her until she's biting out another broken keen into her palm, her toes curling and body going stiff as the overstimulation makes her come undone again.

The Asset only lasts a few thrusts more before he's quickly setting her on her feet, urging Christina onto her knees and pushing her cock passed her lips. She gags a bit, but quickly gets with the program when he starts fucking into her mouth. Metal hand clutching at her blonde curls, she relaxes her throat and glances at the The Winter Soldier's face. His eyebrows are pinched and his face is flushed, he looks close. That sultry cerulean gaze peers up at him from beneath those long lashes and he looses himself. His hips still and he shudders, emptying out into the wide, open mouth wrapped around his cock.

The assassin comes with a gasp, a quiet "fuuuck", and then he releases his vice grip on Christina's hair. The blonde pulls back with a quiet cough, sputtering, but swallowing none the less. Deep breaths and heavy pants fill the otherwise silent room and whatever's left of coherent thought in her mind fragments into nothingness when he pulls her back onto her feet to kiss it from the spunk from the corner of her mouth.

With haste Christina Pierce and the Winter Soldier gather themselves. She collects her torn underwear and deposits the shredded material in her purse as the Soldier tucks himself back into his fatigues. She smoothes down her dress, followed by her tangled hair. The Soldier's metal hand comes out to follow suite, combing through the blonde locks. Christina lets out a puff of a laugh, leaning up to fix his own ruffled hair, before placing a peck on his mouth.

There's a cheshire grin plastered on her mouth when he slouches down into the examination chair on the otherside of the room and she returns to her side of the observation glass. A few short minutes pass before he father is padding in with a doctor. They're discussing something in hushed tones before Pierce gestures his daughter out the door. With the briefest of smiles to the Asset, Christina follows her father down the hallway as if nothing has happened at all.

Their next encounter comes in the holding bay, another brief moment left alone waiting for her father. The S.T.R.I.K.E. team is standing just outside, as she sucks him off with only a single door keeping them from getting caught. He never even mentions whether he remembers her or not, but when he's fucking his metal fingers into her, he traces her neck where he'd left bruises once before.

The time after she sits in on one of his medical evaluations and afterwards excuses herself to the restroom instead of riding up in the elevator with Agents Rumlow and Pavlov. He seems to be waiting for her when she bursts back into the medical bay with a sheepish look on her face. He plows her into the examination table with his metal hand clamped over her mouth.

Christina recognizes they definately have a problem when she finds herself being yanked into an unoccupied conference room in the lower levels of The Vault. The Winter Soldier is supposed to be on his way to the armory, but instead he's here with her in a dark room, tearing her pants down her thighs and pushing her panties aside. He presses her front into the wall as metal fingers fuck her open, and then he makes her beg for his cock. Even more embarrassing, she actually does.

His fingers disappear but are instantly replaced by his length, the metal hand gripping the curve of her hip, quickly finding that sweet place that makes her scream. The Asset presses flush with her, hot as a furnace against her back, and his flesh hand comes around her shoulders to close on her throat. He presses a kiss under her jaw and then tightens his hold, his hips not ceasing in their chase of his release. The air burns in her lungs, so close to passing out, when he makes her come for him. Her scream comes out a strangled cry, muffled by the hand closed over her windpipe, her thighs shaking. He lets go when he comes, spilling spunk on the back of her thighs, as air returns to her lungs and she's gasping for breath.

After cleaning themselves up the assassin only offers her a hot kiss before disappearing off to the armory as planned before his little side-stop. Christina's knees give out, slumping to the floor, an exhausted and sated heap, in the dark room. "What the fuck am I doing?" It's a rhetorical question, there's no one else is in the room, but the silence only manages to exasperate her even more.


	5. Birthday Spankings

_Discla_ _imer: I don't own anything from the MCU. Obviously._

* * *

 _Christina turns twenty-four and wants the Winter Soldier to wish her happy birthday._

* * *

Christina turns twenty-four another month later. She spends the evening with her family— her father, his sister, her two daughters, their husbands and children. They have a quaint dinner of Chicken Cordon Bleu, paired with a generous glass of Sauvignon Blanc. After a few hours everyone parts ways. Alexander Pierce has paperwork to attend to, her aunt has had a little too much to drink, her cousin's children have bedtime, and Christina has plans to celebrate with her friends.

It's 9:30 when she stops back by her apartment, changes out of her button-down and jeans, and into something more appropriate for a night of drinking and dancing; a semi-sheer lace dress, over a tonal sculpting slip. It's flattering to her figure, midnight blue, in a bodycon-fit. Half an hour later she arrives down the street from DuPont Circle, Agents Lynch and Braun dropping her off outside a line of bars and nightclubs that are crowded with people. She joins her friends inside a dance spot named Dirty Bar.

Christina spends the night downing shots and dancing with a group of long time friends and some of her fellow classmates at Law School. An hour and a half later, after they've thoroughly enjoyed the first club, they head a couple doors down to the Midtown Lounge and waste no time taking advantage of dance floor. The neon lights, the blaring bass, the dancing bodies tangled together, all make for an intoxicating high. The group makes use of the bar and bottle service, easily tossing back shot after shot.

Come half-past midnight Christina is drunk and envious of her best friend, Deja, and Deja's flavor of the month, Aarav. She finds herself feeling lascivious and jealous, not necessarily of the couple, but of the indecent make out session their engaging in. Christina catches herself longing for some heavy petting with her favorite metal-armed assassin.

Three shots later, Deja and Aarav disappear off to some shady corner, and the birthday girl decides that she too deserves a good shag. She could very well have chosen any man inside the club, there would have been plenty of takers. But she isn't in the mood for an accountant, or legal secretary, or security guard, or auditing clerk. Christina is in the mood for a romp with the Winter Soldier, it'd been weeks since she'd been able to see him after all.

So the now-twenty four year old blonde excuses herself from her group of highly inebriated friends, shuffling with a bit of difficulty in her high heels as she ducks between the writhing bodies on dance floor. Making for the back exit, Christina checks over her shoulder for her security detail. She feels a little sorry for the stunt she's about to pull, Rumlow or her father will probably chew both the agents out, but with a smirk she ducks down the alleyway and makes a clean break right out of their security perimeter.

Christina disappears onto the busy street, making her may up Connecticut Avenue to the crosswalk way at Northwest 18th and crosses over to Heist, a lounge on Jefferson Place. It's only across the street from their perimeter, but she blends in with the crowd and keeps out of sight. She dances with strangers, enjoys a few glasses of top-shelf champagne, and waits.

The Asset finds her a little less than half an hour later, standing on a side street behind the Heist nightclub, puffing smoke. The overhead lighting of street lamps is dim in the darkness of the early morning, the bass of dance music playing inside can be felt vibrating through the pale brick wall. A few other club goers are standing outside as well, some of them sobering up, some waiting for their rides, some draining cigarettes not unlike his target.

Christina Pierce is leaning back against the discolored bricks, standing under the fire escape with a cigarette between her wine-stained lips. A smirk is painted on her colored mouth, curling around the stick of tobacco, as some drunken young man in his early twenties chats her up— an aerospace engineer student, he mentions. The blonde isn't really listening to him, she's waiting for her assassin to find her, and is pleased when she spots him marching stiffly down the alley. As the other people in the poorly lit backstreet shoot him wary looks, the birthday girl smiles.

The Winter Soldier is dressed in his same black fatigues, with their knee guards and utility holsters, but instead of his usual leather tactical gear with it's various snaps and straps, he's wearing a different jacket. It's black— of course— with symmetrical leather piping down the torso and arms, and long sleeves that concealed his metal prosthetic. Twin hand guns are holstered on either side of his thighs, enlisting fear in everyone that looks him over. He isn't wearing his mask or googles, leaving the assassin's expression free to view. His normally trained visage is set in a firm bitch face, eyebrows pinched as he approaches the girl he'd been sent to collect. The alleyway bystanders make themselves scarce posthaste.

Christina grins passed the man hitting on her, who her mistakes just who her expression is directed at. The young man suggests they go back inside, offers to buy her a drink when she finally speaks for the first time since he'd walked up to her. "I knew they'd send you out to find me." Her tone is playful, a teasing grin on her lips, but her eyes aren't looking at him, directed somewhere over his shoulder. The aerospace engineer student turns to look at whoever she's talking to.

Standing only a foot or so from them is some mysterious man, dressed entirely in black, his face shadowed from view. The twenty-something gives the Soldier an annoyed look, "First come, first serve, dude. Get lost." Christina practically snorts, chortling at the men in front of her. Poor kid doesn't even know who he's challenging. The assassin elects to ignore the boy, looking his target in the eye as he speaks out evenly. "Time to go."

The student's irked look grows challenging, but the woman talks right over his huff of annoyance. "Let me guess, a sweep would have drawn too much attention, so they sent you out solo?" The Winter Soldier merely nods and the smile of Christina's face ruffles the young man's feathers. The aerospace engineer student fully turns to face the man who'd interrupted his attempt to get under the blonde's skirt, "Listen guy, she's preoccupied, got it? Get in line."

The assassin doesn't take kindly to the interruption, with his metal hand, he grabs the student and tosses him easily aside. "I'd get lost if I were you, buddy, he gets a little violent when he's being possessive." Christina chimes in, watching the intoxicated man stumble back a few feet. He gives an angry growl but seems to pause when he finally spots the guns strapped to the Soldier's thighs. The man thinks better of a confrontation with the possibly dangerous stranger and promptly goes back into the nightclub, leaving them standing in the now-empty alley, only cars passing periodically down the streets on either side.

Finally alone, the Asset gives her an annoyed look, "You slipped the security perimeter." Christina merely shrugs in response, stubbing out her cigarette under her shoe. "I had to get them to send you out somehow. Who else is gonna give me my birthday spankings?" Her voice is teasing, cheeks flushed from the numerous drinks she'd had. The Winter Soldier gives her a lecherous grin.

She's pretty pleased when, as she'd expected, he crowds her back into the brick and towers over her. Christina tangles her fingers in his hair as he leans down to kiss her. She tastes like the bitter mint of her menthol cigarette, but it's thrilling. This has been a long time coming, but she figured frequenting The Vault so often, when she isn't legitimately affiliated with HYDRA could be suspicious. Hence the sudden drunken desire for a long-awaited romp with the assassin, after several weeks of not seeing him.

The Winter Soldier skips right over any romantic gestures normally shared between average couples and goes right for that sweet spot between her thighs. With his flesh-and-bone hand, he pushes her panties aside and pets her clit. "You're wet already." He says, deep voice ringing into her ear, her eyes practically roll back into her head. "Been thinkin' about you all night." Christina admits and the Asset grins smugly, "I bet."

His fingers her slick and the blonde whines. "Fuck," Her skull clonks back into the wall, hips bucking against his hand, and she feels his breath fan over her neck and shoulder. She begins to pant as he works his wrist, fingers drilling into her in a maddening fashion. Yet the Soldier's breathing remains the same, no faster nor harder than usual, like his current activities are so routine it hardly requires his full attention.

Christina releases his brunette locks, palms his erection through his fatigues with the hand that isn't clinging desperately to his bicep while he fingerfucks her. His fingers are almost knuckle-deep inside her cunt, her hips writhing desperately to meet his hand. A triumphant grin plasters itself on his mouth as she keens against his shoulder, "Ah, _ah_ , so—so close," whimpers the woman and the Winter Soldier lets out a faint chuckle before removing his hand completely.

She lets out a disappointed whine, but then he's yanking her dress up over her hips, pausing to admire her black lace-waist thong, before tearing them down her thighs and spinning her, shoving the blonde chest-first into the brick. Christina moans at the telltale sounding of his zipper, "Gotta get in you," the Asset says and then he presses into her, cock driving without pause. She steadies her palms flat against the wall, turning her head to avoid smacking her face into the discolored bricks.

A beat passes, hips driving into hers, before his metal hand comes down on her ass. The sound registers before the sting does and Christina keens, back bowing prettily for him. He repeats the motion, once, twice. She stops counting after six, but has the feeling the number is going to be twenty-four. To keep from crying out, she bites down on her bottom lip, glancing over her shoulder to watch the Soldier drive into her mercilessly with each strike against her tender rear.

He looks thoroughly debauched, steel eyes blazing, mouth falling open to make the most unholy noises. His hips stutter, finding that _sweet_ , sweet spot, and Christina feels lightheaded. The Winter Soldier wraps his right arm around her waist, bunching her dress further up and splaying her thighs a little wider as he leans forward to press his chest against her back. The metal hand comes up to close around her neck, rough enough to stun her breathing but careful enough not to bruise.

He jackhammers into that sweet spot, the pressure building both in her chest and in the knot wrung tight inside her. Christina's temple presses flush with the wall, bumping against the brick with every thrust. The trapped air is burning in her chest, suffocating, and she gasps out a moan, knowing that the crescendo is _so, so close_. With a particularly hard thrust, her climax crashes over her suddenly. Her heart is pounding in her ears, everything is buzzing with static and the burning in her chest hurts so sweet.

Without warning the pounding of the Asset's hips abruptly stops, a roar of a groan tearing from his throat and he feels like he's combusting into a million shards. He releases her throat, gripping her chin, and angling her head for a starving kiss over her shoulder. Air fills Christina's lungs and she gasps, trying to gather her breath before he's kissing her. She breaths in through her nose until he pulls back from her mouth and slumps into her back, pressing them flush with the brick wall.

She sucks in her breath steadily, greedily feeding air back into her body. The Soldier's weight pressing into her is hot, almost uncomfortably so, like a furnace. After a moment he stands fully, pulls out, and tucks himself back into his clothes. Christina feels the slick leaking between her thighs, does her best to clean herself up despite the lack of anything to wipe clean with. She pulls her panties up and her dress down, before finally looking at him.

The assassin's face is back to it's usual trained expression, but there's a triumphant glint in his eye, as he produces a walkie-type device from the back pocket of his fatigues. "Target acquired, escorting back to perimeter." That's all the Winter Soldier says, before he's leading her out of the alley and back across the street to the security perimeter. Agents Rumlow, Braun, Lynch, and Wagner are waiting outside. Sophia Wagner, who is part of her daytime security detail, is wearing a stylish green dress that is clearly intended as club attire.

Agent Rumlow crosses his arm over his chest, clearly annoyed with her disappearing act. "Where were you?" he questions with a grim look on his face. "At Heist. Across the street." She answers truthfully, "A friend texted me to meet them. I thought you would be following me." That part is a lie, but none of them know that. Pissed off, but over the situation, Rumlow just rolls his eyes and nods, letting her slink back into the Midtown Lounge— this time accompanied by Agent Wagner— without any further prodding. Christina is pretty damn proud that her little plan actually worked.

* * *

 _whoop! How is this going? Are you enjoying the garbage? I know I am._

 _I also recently started watching Once Upon a Time over again and now I'm Jefferson trash. Really, really tempted to write a Jefferson story._  
 _jfc Sebastian Stan, let me rest!_


	6. You Lie Down With The Dogs

_I don't own anything from the MCU, obviously._

* * *

 _More porn. Fun times._

* * *

 _You lie down with dogs, you fall in with thieves_  
 _You're gonna catch something but you do as you please_  
 _You're scartchin' an itch that nothing can ease_  
 _You lie down with dogs you get up with fleas_

* * *

Two months pass from Christina's birthday and her alleyway tryst with The Fist of HYDRA. She's able to see the Winter Soldier on occasion— receiving orders from her father's home, undergoing medical evaluations, passing her in the hallway in The Vault. Sometimes he looks at her like she's a stranger, sometimes he's lucid, and sometimes he's leering at her like he wants to eat her alive. But, no opportunity for secret hookups arise and so the weeks fly by.

Finally— after the Asset had seen a little too much excitement, during a mission somewhere in Eastern Europe— an opening arrives. Following transport the assassin is taken to the med bay for a post-mission evaluation, where Christina happens to be standing in the hall making conversation with Agents Rollins and Wagner. The law student had accompanied her father to The Vault, but the organization leader had been called upon for a private conference.

His superior's daughter is there again, though the Winter Soldier couldn't fathom what her purpose was there— if she had one at all. The Soldier can smell her before he's even hauled out of the elevator, the hallway smells faintly of fruit, of pomegranate and traces of mango. The twenty-four year old is dressed in a pretty, navy blue number— a lace shift dress, belted at the waist. Her blonde hair is styled in loose, wavy curls. She looks good.

He's irate, fatigued, and his right shoulder had been dislocated in the mission. The team had yet to reset it, going on that the medical team would handle it. He, of course, doesn't voice his complaints. But, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. He can see the surprise on Christina's face— _that is her name right?_ She looks at the agents dragging him unceremoniously toward the medical bay, at the armed guards with their weapons trained on him, and for a moment he sees concern cloud her pretty features, before she quickly composes herself. The young woman says nothing, but follows them inside the room.

The Boss Man's daughter's arms are crossed as she watches the doctors and techs cautiously fuss over him. It takes them a whole ten minutes before they finally set the shoulder. Christina can feel herself taping her foot, worried and annoyed with how long they're taking to correct the Soldier's injury. She keeps her face trained, trying not to appear perturbed. That could be suspicious. The Asset looks on edge, agitated, and simply tired.

By the time the numerous guards and their automatic weapons finally file out, the assassin's eval is near done and she knows she should be on her way. Rumlow has spotted her now that the room is more empty and he keeps glancing at her periodically, probably wondering what she's doing there. Christina watches her soldier— _when had he become hers?_ — for a little longer and he's watching back. The eye contact feels wildly intimate, his steel-blue eyes are blazing intense into her own cerulean and she has to look away.

When the blonde glances back to Rumlow, the agent is leaning over toward Rollins. They're talking quietly, their eyes trained on her. Christina decides it's time to make herself scarce, before Rumlow starts questioning her. With a final look to the Asset, she heads for the door, ducking down the hallway in the opposite direction of the elevator.

Christina waits the odd five minutes that it takes for the evaluation to complete. She can hear the Agents and physician talking in the hallway afterwards. Rumlow orders the Soldier to remain on stand-by, Pierce will want to debrief him after his meeting and now is her chance. When the group files down the hall and into the elevator, the blonde makes a break for the med bay. She preps herself with an excuse should a guard still be there— she's looking for Agent Wagner— and then rips open the door.

The Winter Soldier is still sitting on the examination table, looking smug when he spots her in the threshold. He clearly remembers her this time. Christina hurries to close the distance, latching the door behind her. His metal arm wraps around the small of her back and she tangles her fingers in his damp hair, lips clashing needily together.

This morning she tastes like coffee, remnants of sugar on the corner of her mouth from her breakfast churro. She tastes sweet and the assassin is reeling with the closeness of her. Memories assault him, ones he remembered, some he hadn't known he'd forgotten. One of her hands remains stationary in his hair, tugging on the brunette locks, the other comes down to cup his chin, traces over his neck, resting on his shoulder and making the Asset flinch.

Christina pulls back instantly, eyes brimming with concern, glancing at his now-healing shoulder. "Shit, I'm sorry." She quips, her cheeks flushed and lips rosy, touching the injured area gingerly, "Did I make it worse?"

The Winter Soldier gives her a deadpan look, standing from the examination table and towering over her. He's not in the mood for conversation this time around, she observes as he turns and backs her into the spot where he'd been sitting. "Don't talk, just spread your fucking legs." Christina raises her eyebrows, she's never heard him curse before, but she does as ordered, splaying open her thighs and reaching down to unbuckle her belt.

He trades arms, wrapping his flesh arm around her waist, his metal hand pushing up the lace of her dress. Her fingers go right for his utility belt, placing it on the metal stand next to the examination table after removing it. She unzips his fatigues and then looks up to find him staring at her. " _Der'mo_ ," _Shit_ , the Asset curses. In Russian Christina thinks, but isn't sure. He's admiring the lacy thong on her hips.

The blonde smirks, reaching back to unzip her dress, "Wait 'til you see the bra, they match." She lets the navy material pool around their feet, revealing her lingerie set with a proud grin. The assassin groans. Match, they do. The little lace, navy number has his blood boiling. Yanking the panties down to join her dress, he scoops her up without warning and seats her on the edge of the examination table. "Holy hell," Christina whines when he goes right for the gold, cold metal thumb toying at her clit.

That smug grin is back on his mouth again, flesh-and-bone hand groping through her bra, while his metal fingers work her open for him. The woman keens, hips quivering, her hands reaching out to push his fatigues and underwear down his thighs. "Need you," she pants, pumping his length. It's pretty true, it'd been a long while since they'd indulged in this. Two months had flown by and though they'd seen each other, wanted each other, the right moment had never arised. So, the Soldier doesn't waste anymore time now that one has.

He brings her legs around his waist, angles his hips, and eases his cock between her thighs. "Fuck, I missed this cunt." Hisses the assassin, grinding into her. Christina's eyes flutter closed and she whimpers, "Missed your cock." The blonde makes a conscious effort not to grip his injured shoulder, clings to his forearms instead. He chortles into the curve of her neck, biting the space meeting her shoulder, "I can tell."

She wants to shoot him a smart reply, quip something clever, but all words get lost on her tongue when he begins slamming into her. With a cry Christina reaches out to clutch his hair with one hand, whining into his ear, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," The Asset chuckles this time, a little louder and gives another uncharacteristic jest, "I am fucking you, _krasavitsa_."

The blonde has no clue what that means— she makes a note to take a semester of Russian before she graduates— but she knows it's ridiculously hot. The Winter Soldier clamps his flesh hand around her chin, turning her face up to cover her mouth with his. He kisses her with renewed vigor, sinful lips moving down the column of her neck, passed her collarbone before burying his face in her valley of her breasts.

Christina lets out a surprised cry when the Asset pushes her flat into the examination table. Her back lies flat against the thin mattress pad, her hips hovering off the edge, legs wrapped around the assassin's waist. With the change of angle, she finds herself moaning louder, making the Soldier smile. He squeezes her hip and sighs into her groaning mouth, capturing her lips in another hot kiss, and drilling into her mercilessly.

In the hall way the couple can hear the shuffling of feet. A group of agents, The Winter Soldier learns, thanks to his superior hearing. He can hear their heavy footfall, their chattering. They pause a few doors down talking animatedly about a mission one of them had been on. Christina bites her lip, forces down her moans despite the assassin's relentless hips, tries to be quiet as not to get them caught.

The Asset hikes her legs up over his shoulders, changing the angle once again, this time hammering directly on her sweet spot. The woman groans and he listens closely to see if any of the HYDRA agents had heard it. The conversation continues and the Soldier returns his attention to the blonde he's fucking, who's lying wrecked beneath him, trying not to scream.

"Better be quiet," He says, leaning down over her, battering her g-spot, "Or they'll hear you." Christina really wants to scream, to curse, to mouth off and give him a smart reply, but she can only whimper helplessly. Her hand comes out to close around his neck, choking lightly, like he often did to her. The action makes his eyes go ablaze, driving inside of her with increased fervor. And, _fuck_ , she's right there, so close to shattering into a billion pieces.

His relentless hips push her over the edge and Christina is suddenly falling apart, clamping her free hand over her mouth as she comes, feeling like she's being both unmade and crushed back together simultaneously. She tries to stifle her scream, praying that the agents down the hall had left by now, as she whines and whimpers with every thrust of her partner's hips.

The Winter Soldier fucks her through a supremely satisfying orgasm, biting his lip to muffle his grunting as he pursues his own release. Christina's thighs are trembling, the legs tossed over his shoulders shaking as he continues fucking into her. She's greatly over stimulated, pleading quietly for _something_ — though she doesn't know what— by the time he pulls out and paints her stomach with spunk. The assassin groans as her hand finally leaves his throat, and he thinks that he can see why the choking gets her off so effectively. It's damn hot.

They take more time to work through the euphoria than usual, holding each other for a while longer than is normally a part of this scandalous dance of theirs. Christina remains on her back, her arms wrapped around the Soldier, who's slumped over on top of her, panting. Eventually they get dressed. He passes her panties to her, watching her use the lace garment to wipe up his semen with a pout on her face.

They've just finished up redressing and smoothing down their hair when the Asset hears the ding of the elevator and the clacking of footsteps. Christina hears them as well a few moments later, she hurries to buckle her belt and deposit her soiled panties into her black handbag. The assassin plops down on the examination table, feigning standby as the woman presses a parting kiss to his mouth. The door opens behind them in the same instant that she steps out of arm's reach.

Christina looks over her shoulder, praying that she doesn't look as debauched as she feels. Andrey Pavlov, her other daytime security detail agent, stands in the threshold. She hopes that they don't look suspicious. The agent— Russian, in his early thirties— enters into the room with one eyebrow raised, shooting the Asset a cold look.

"Your father is looking for you." Pavlov says to the woman and then looks back to the Winter Soldier, who's face is devoid of emotion again. " _Soldat_ ," He address and the Soldier sits upright. "Attention." Pavlov orders in English. The assassin get to his feet, stands at attention like he's ordered. " _Zhdat' dal'neyshikh instruktsiy_."

Christina's face screws up, feeling perturbed watching her soldier back to his usual robot-like visage. "I was waiting for him. I thought he was supposed to come debrief this guy," the blonde gestures to the assassin. Pavlov nods to her, "He's coming now." A few more moments pass, Agent Pavlov watching Christina, watching the Winter Soldier.

"You're not afraid?" Questions her day guard. She looks to the Russian agent, blinking in confusion. "Of what?" The law student gestures to her soldier, "Him?" Pavlov nods. Christina shakes her head without hesitation. Maybe she had been at first, but after all the delightful orgasms he'd given her? Not anymore. "No. I don't think he'd hurt me. He knows I'm not a threat." The Russian agent seems to find that funny, what with the smirk on his mouth.

"Careful, _Printsessa_." He says, her father and a group of agents enter the room behind them. "That there is the dog of HYDRA, you should be wary of his bite." Christina watches the Asset for some kind of reaction to the mockery, seeing only a flicker of retaliation blazing in his steel eyes before it disappears as quickly as it came. The woman gives Pavlov a smirk of her own, "What would sheep know of a wolf?"

Alexander Pierce comes to stand beside her, Rumlow chuckling at her return blow to Pavlov, and her father renders her with a single raised brow. "Rollins, please escort Christina to the Triskelion office." The latter sighs, stretching her shoulders. She'd hoped to head home and at least get a change of underwear, if not a shower. "Lunch, then?" The young woman questions. Pierce merely nods, not bothering to turn to her as he replies, "As soon as the debriefing is over."

Christina shrugs, wondering what was so private she couldn't sit in for the debriefing, she had for plenty of others before. She writes it off as sensitive information and turns to follow Rollins out, before stopping short of the door. "Seeya 'round, Soldier."

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
*Der'mo (Дерьмо) — Shit  
*krasavitsa (красавица) — beautiful  
*Soldat (солдат) — Soldier  
*Zhdat' dal'neyshikh instruktsiy (Ждать дальнейших инструкций) — Wait for further instructions.  
*Printsessa (принцесса) — Princess

 _More smut. How's it going? Love it, hate it? Lookin for something more than just porn? Honestly idk what I'm doing with this I'm just rolling with it._

 _I started watching OUAT again and now here I am with a Jefferson folder with eight different ideas in it already. ISTG I'm so deep in the trash. Free Me. So I may be doing a Jefferson fic. Can't decide if it should be a oneshot, or drabbles, or a full story, but Jefferson, The Hatter lives in my ass now, so there's probably a fic headed your way._


	7. How the Steel Was Tempered

_I don't own anything from the MCU, obviously._

* * *

 _Note to self: Incredible, astonishing, magnificent, spectacular, phenomenal, extraordinary, awe-inspiring, marvelous sex **does not** excuse the fact that your lover is an assassin. Get a damn boyfriend or something._

* * *

The next time Christina sees the Winter Soldier it's only a few days after their close call in the medical bay, but it's clear her favorite assassin has recently been wiped again. She sits in the dining room of her father's home, eating a take-away meal with the Secretary to the World Security Council. The Asset saunters in through the patio door, startling the blonde as he enters silently. He looks at her with cold, dead eyes and then glances at Alexander Pierce. Christina's blood goes cold. He doesn't remember her again.

The Soldier keeps his gaze trained on her until Pierce orders him down. Civilians aren't meant to see him, not if they're intended to live, so he doesn't understand why his superior dismisses this woman's presence, but he doesn't question it. Watching the petite blonde eating her dinner, he observes the way she seems unphased under his gaze, notes how easily she continues on is if this is a common occurrence. Maybe it is. He can't remember.

Nodding to his daughter, Pierce deposits his napkin on the table beside his plate and stands from the table, "Why don't you pour yourself a glass of Brandy and wait for me to join you in the living room, dear?" Christina nods in reply, making no move to follow them as her father leads the Winter Soldier down the hall toward his study.

Their meeting is brief, long enough to discuss the details of the Asset's mission and for Pierce to call up the tac team overseeing the operation. He's needed back at HQ, the Secretary learns. Christina finishes up her dinner, rinses the dishes and packs them into the dishwasher to pass the time. She'd never admit, but she's a little disappointed. Something about that distant look in the Soldier's eye upsets her, or maybe it's the knowledge that he'd strike her down without a second thought, that has her second guessing their ridiculous, and most certainly dangerous relationship— if it could even be called that.

As per her father's suggestion she pours herself— and him— a glass of Brandy and curls up on the end of the couch. She turns on the television and pretends to watch the end of the evening news. Christina instead finds herself glancing down the hallway at the door to her father's study. She sighs, wondering what horrors beyond her knowledge could be in the makings behind the oak door firmly closed to her curious gaze.

She'd heard her father say things like _keeping the world in order_ and _shaping the future_ , but Christina had no idea exactly what any of it meant, but she did know that a lot of people died along the way. She's not stupid, she knows what the Winter Soldier is and what he does. She's hyper aware whenever a high profile death occurs abroad that just happens to coincide with his intercontinental escapades. A part of her is horrified by the blood on his hands— the same hands that grope, and caress, and cling to her in the throws of passion— and another part of her knows that if he doesn't do it someone else would receive his same orders.

Christina also has some kind of idea that the killing isn't his idea. She knows that he receives his orders, like he is right now. That someone else decides who dies, what time, and by what means. The Soldier simply does as he's told. She's seen the armed entourage that escorts him nearly everywhere, the Chair where they wipe his memories away, the Cradle where they keep him in cryogenic stasis. Christina knows that though years have come and gone, and he's changed hands time and time again, the Asset is just a puppet and someone else pulls the strings. That someone now, being her father. The thought of it makes her have to pour herself another drink.

As promised the meeting had brief, but Alexander Pierce has matters to attend to back at The Vault, the older man tells his daughter, downing his Brandy in a single shot. The blonde is used to being left to her own devices, she supposes that she too should be on her way. She has class in the morning and she's sure Agent Lynch is itching to move them back to her apartment perimeter— so he can park his ass at the 24 hour cafe he likes across the street and consume way too many sugary drinks. And, besides with her soldier's brain once again in the blender, she isn't likely to be getting laid tonight.

Christina sees her father off first before tiding up the kitchen, gathering her things, a turning off the various lights left on around the house. Before turning off the living room light, she casts the mini-bar a forlorn glance, opting to pour herself a final glass of her father's fine Brandy. After all, it's not her dime, and after her disappointment this evening— why does not getting her brains fucked out by a murderer disappoint her?— she deserves another drink.

It isn't until she places the bottle of distilled wine back onto the mini-bar and looks up into the window does she notice the dark shadow standing a few feet behind her reflected in the glass. Christina practically jumps out of her skin, nearly spilling her drink, as she whips around to look at the assassin standing in the dark hallway behind her.

"Holy hell, Soldier, you scared the bejeezus outta me!" She hisses, lapping at that had sloshed over the rim of the glass and onto the back of her hand. The Asset offers no reply, and the woman gives him a glare, plopping herself down on the couch with not an inkling further of fear. She's a curious girl, he decides, most people are afraid of him.

The Winter Soldier looks at her sitting on the taupe colored couch in her unbuttoned burgundy coat and her navy dress. Something about that seems familiar, like he should remember it, but he doesn't. He tries though, thinks he recalls that same voice in a more seductive tone, _"I'll try everything once, including you, if you like."_ But, the memory disappears into boundless recesses of his scrambled mind. This time he isn't able to pull the memory of her back to the surface again, like he's been able to before.

"I've seen you sitting on that couch before." His voice comes out rough, like he hasn't used it— maybe not since their little tryst in the med bay a few days prior, she thinks. Her soldier almost sounds confused, but he's looking at her with those same wild eyes. "You've seen me do a lot more than just _sitting_ on this couch, buddy." He can tell by her tone, the same tone he thought his mind might have recalled, that whatever it was, it was most likely not of the appropriate nature. That thrills him a little bit.

Christina takes another drink from her glass, looking almost disappointed as she speaks.

"You've forgotten me again." She says simply. The Soldier merely shrugs. He had, but there's nothing he can do or say about it now. He finds himself confused when a giggle flutters passed her lips. "I've never seen you shrug before." She feels silly saying it out loud, but in all the months she'd been letting him fuck her, she'd still yet to see him doing the most mundane of things. She feels ridiculous at the notion.

The Winter Soldier doesn't seem to mind though, in fact he doesn't notice much at all. He can't remember meeting her, what does it matter if she'd never seen him shrug before? Attributing it to the alcohol, he closes the distance between them, half hoping that he'd read the situation right enough that his action wouldn't be the wrong one. It appears to be right though, when she leans up in response and meets his lips.

The meshing and melding of their mouths feels familiar, right even, but it does nothing to stir his sleeping memories. Kissing her doesn't feel strange though, nor unwanted, infact he feels content enough to do this all night— except he has a mission to attend to. Wishful thinking, he supposes, that he'd get to spend the night doing something enjoyable. When the assassin pulls away Christina whines, hands fisting in the leather of his tac uniform. She knows he has to go, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.

The Winter Soldier has a mission, a time frame, a hostile location he has to infiltrate, an article of information he has to retrieve, a scheduled extraction, but he'd prefer to stay here with the pretty blonde that he can't remember. She looks disappointed to see him go. But, go he does. Christina wonders how much time will pass before she sees him again.

The answer is, not long, one week to be exact. But, again he doesn't seem to quite recall her. The Asset passes her and her father in the hallway of The Vault, his entourage of armed guards ever present. She listens to a doctor and a scientist summarize the Soldier's condition. He appears to be under stress, his behavior is erractic, volatile. The doctor recommends rest a brief recooperation period, the scientist suggests the Cradle.

Christina trembles, but thinking of him in cryo makes her insides cold. She hates it when they put him in there. They normally do if the time between his next mission exceeds seventy-two hours, but lately they'd been using him in rapid succession, one mission after the next. He isn't always killing people. Sometimes he gathers valueable intel or objects of importance, sometimes he's sent in as back-up for missions gone awry, sometimes he's a scare tactic to compell his superior's enemies to give up the objects or information they seek. And, after most missions he's evaluated, and either wiped and placed in the Cradle or on taken to the holding bay and placed on standby.

In the end her father follows the advice of the physician, and Christina is grateful for it. They opt to let the Asset rest, his next mission is in thirty-eight hours, and there's no sense in wiping him and creating more stress or throwing him in cryo just to have to unfreeze him in a day and a half. Her soldier is escorted off to the holding bay, a series of rooms repurposed into holding cells. The assassin is placed in one and ordered to sleep, the heavy door closing with an air of finality behind him. Christina decides tonight she'll drop in for a visit, roll in the hay or not, she's worried for The Winter Soldier.

In the many months of sneaking around she'd learned that the guards had their shift changes every four hours. She lies in wait for a few hours, makes herself scarce by dawdling in the cafeteria, hides away in her father's office until the time comes the schedule shift change and she makes her way to the holding bay. Before the next guard reaches his post she slips into the Soldier's makeshift cell.

The door opening rouses him from his light slumber, he doesn't sleep much even when he's ordered to. He dreams and when he dreams, he remembers. Or at least he thinks he does. He can never be sure if the people in his nightmares are real or people he'd imagined. The same goes for the good dreams. When it closes quietly and there is no rattle of artillery or barking of orders, he's a little perplexed to find the blonde woman from the hallway standing pressed up against the door. He stiffens, but doesn't attack. The Asset half-remembers her today, like when he looks at her he thinks he can see an outline of the numerous times she's stood before him before. The woman presses a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to be quiet. He sits up on the edge of the cot when she tip toes away from the door, the springs creaking as he shifts, his back taut and chin tilted up, rigid and at attention as she approaches with caution.

Christina's voice is quiet when she stops a foot away from him, still out of arm's reach, careful not to startle him if he's feeling particularly violent that afternoon. "Do you remember me this time?" The Winter Soldier is almost positive he's been asked that before, probably by her, so he nods even if he doesn't really. There's an awkward pause that's never occured between them before, as she steps up to him. He doesn't know what to do and Christina doesn't know what to say, but now she's standing in front of him, within arm's length and she decides to just go for it.

The assassin flinches when her hand extends, latching to her wrist with his metal hand, gripping with enough force Christina knows it will bruise. She isn't detered though, reaching out to brush her fingertips through his dark hair. The grip of his metal prothesis loosens, he's holding it with just the lightest pressure as the woman kneels before him. "You sure are tense today," whispers the blonde, her other hand coming up to join the other in brushing back his brunette locks. This the Asset remembers; her fingers in his hair, gripping tight, her broken voice crying out as she clings to him. He definetly remembers that, remembers liking it too.

The memory gives him a boost of confidence, mouth darting out to find hers. Christina doesn't seem to mind, welcomes his kiss readily. She's happy to indulge him in any way she can, regardless of the end result. Today he seems hesitant, more so before he'd kissed her, and just as stressed as the doctor had stated earlier, so she gladly lets him release his frustration on her. The Soldier's hands come up to clutch her face, tilting their heads for better access. His tongue darts in her mouth, swiping over her own, and the young woman closes her eyes, let's the assassin haul her off the floor and onto his thighs.

He's a lot more gentle than usual, trapping her in his lap and giving her numerous long, slow kisses. Skittish hands and fingers trace down her sides, over her hips. Cold metal pops open the buttons of her coat, tugs it open. His warm flesh hand creeps under her dress, gropes her rear through the black material. Christina moans into his mouth, keeps her fingers anchored in his long hair, tugging deliciously. The Asset takes his time, kisses her silly, relishes in the memories dancing behind his closed eyes as he helps her shrug her coat to the floor.

Christina's skirt bunches up between her thighs with the help of the assassin's hands. His metal fingers skim over her hips, between her parted thighs and over her bikini-cut lingerie, pushing the black lace aside. The cold metal pets her clit, makes the woman bury her face in his neck, peppering kisses above the leather collar of his tactical gear. She tugs at the snaps and straps, insists he remove the restricting material, but her needy demand goes unheeded.

His fingers disappear, earning a whine from the blonde, as he gathers her up. Christina clings to his wide shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist when he turns them over. Her back bounces against the thin, lumpy mattress of the folding cot, the springs protesting as the Winter Soldier covers her with his weight. Nails scratch across her hip, his free hand collecting her panties between flesh-and-bone fingers and pulling them down over her thighs. The woman pops the snaps, tugs at the straps with commanding fingertips, working off the constricting gear insistently as he unzips his trousers, pushes them down his thighs along with her underwear.

Free of the cumbersome leather, she heaves it onto the floor beside her jacket and pulls the soldier plush to her, covers his mouth with her own as he eases between her thighs. Choking out a moaning, Christina grips his shoulders tight, hips canting up to meet his as he fills her with his cock. The strangled sound makes him chuckle, has him pressing kisses into her covered chest. He pushes the material of her dress further up her torso, admires the flat of her stomach and the lace that covers the swell of her breasts.

Christina can feel the scarring under her fingers, the marred flesh where the metal prosthetic is grafted to his shoulder. The Asset tries to distract her, she can tell. His flesh hand holds her hip in a bruising grip, his mouth leaves little red hickies along the top of her breasts, his pelvis crashes into her own, but she doesn't redirect her attention. Pushing at the center of his chest, he crowds up over her, his metal arm keeping him hovering above her as he shoots her down an unimpressed look, slowing his pounding hips. Her fingertips outline the enflamed flesh, tracing over the scars that contour the cold silver and stretch out diagonally toward his heart.

She doesn't mind the arm— in fact it would be her favorite part of his anatomy, if not for his eyes— and she doesn't mind the scars, but she can tell he's conscious of it. The way the assassin seems to shy away, his left shoulder flinching back from her wandering hands and his eyes no longer piercing hers, his gaze trained on her collarbone. "Dont," he commands in a low tone, the canting of his hips coming to a full stop.

Christina doesn't heed him, leans up enough to mouth at the marred flesh. He hisses, not out of pain but annoyance, flesh hand shooting down to pin her back into the mattress. There's a wild look in his steel blue eyes, but that doesn't scare her, not really. "I don't mind it, you know." She whispers, eyes gliding over the scars and the grafted metal. It doesn't need to be said out loud that he does mind it though. That to him it's ugly; a tool, and a weapon. Not meant to be handled tenderly, or kissed, it's meant to instill violence and reap death.

The Winter Soldier offers her no reply, instead he tears her legs up from their position around her hips, tosses them over his shoulders and fucks his hips at a punishing pace. Christina's eyes practically roll back in her skull, the angle making her keen. "Fuck," whines the blonde, breath stuttering in her chest as the assassin pounds her cunt.

He's cursing in Russian into the crock of her neck, tongue darting out to lick at her pulse point. The Asset slams against her g-spot without mercy, keeping her folded in half, her quads twitching in the strained position of her thighs. Christina sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, knowing she has to be quiet. That by now the other has probably settled into his post outside, that being caught like this wouldn't be good for either of them.

Each thrust of his hips shake her body beneath him, the springs of the cot's mattress quietly protesting to the rocking of hips. She's so damn close, right on the edge of tumbling into obvilion, when she reaches up and guides his left hand to the pale expanse of her throat. Urges him close the metal fingers around her neck and trusts him not to crush her windpipe. The hesitance from early disappears and her clamps his hand over her airway, silencing the hushed moans, allowing for only strangled gasps that bring him right up to the edge as well.

The Soldier pushes her knees flush with her chest as he sends her straight into a vicious orgasm. Her thighs cramp, straining at the position, she chokes from the lack of oxygen, her head spins, but he fucks her straight through it all. The assassin releases her windpipe just as he finds release, relentless hips stuttering as he curses once more in Russian and then captures her mouth in a searing kiss. Christina greedily inhales through her nose, swallows his blissful moan.

Her vision is blurry on the edges, whether it's from the choking or the powerful orgasm, she isn't sure, but she knows she passes out. Her eyes fly open a while later, her mind reeling as she quickly becomes aware of her surroundings. The mattress Christina lies on is too small to properly accomidate two people. She lies flat on the cot, the Soldier lying half beside her, half on top of her. His face is pressed into the crook of her shoulder and his metal arm is thrown over her waist, her coat is thrown over them.

Blinking, the woman digs into the pockets of her coat in search of her cellphone. Thankfully the only notification she'd received was from one of her classmates. Her phone reads 6:18 PM and she breathes a sigh of relief, it's only been an hour and a half or so. In a little less than two hours it would be time for the shift change and she would be able to slip out undetected. She'd make up some story about falling asleep studying in some empty conference room and no one would be the wiser. Tucking the phone back into her pocket, she settles back against the Winter Soldier, wondering if he's asleep.

Christina's silent question is quickly answered when he suddenly sits up. The mattress is too small for the both of them like this, which appears to annoy him. At least enough to change their position. The assassin turns them over easily, the blonde finding herself nearly on top of him. He keeps her plastered to his side, tucked against his hip in a position that mirrors the one they'd just been in, but with the roles reversed.

It's definetely more comfortable that half-crushed by the massive behemoth of a man beside her. The next hour and change Christina remains curled into the Soldier, aside from the thirty minutes he spends fucking her again. Eventually they hear the guard depart and the law student tugs her dress back into place, puts own her coat like it'd never been off in the first place. A metal hand reaches out and smoothes down the same blonde curls he'd mussed just a while before. Before departing she gifts the Winter Soldier with a sweet parting kiss and then disappears as if she'd never been there at all. Sometimes he thinks he dreamed her.

Each time they meet in the weeks following their rendevous in the holding bay the Asset has forgetten who she is more often than he remembers her. She fills him in and he seems to fly with it, as if his body remebers her even if his head always doesn't. There are times when she'll touch him and like a lick of fire, unwarranted and unexpected. She'll give him his space, but he'll still burn, with the desperation for her touch back.

Sometimes blurry memories will resurface after she tells him, sometimes her touch will grip them back from the depths of the vast abyss, and sometimes he'll fuck her even if he doesn't remember her. It's touch and go in those instances, Christina never knows what to do. She feels too careful, too aware of each and every one of her actions— lest she startle him and he decide to strangle the life out of her. The Asset takes her rough in those instances, makes her submit to him and is pleased with how easily she gives in.

She burns too. With longing, and shame, and misguided desperation. They're on the hinges of getting caught, she feels. Like sometimes the S.T.R.I.K.E. team members watch her a little too closely, pay too much attention to the way the Soldier reacts to her. But, she also knows that they've been a little sloppy in their trysts. Christina knows she shouldn't want him like she does, knows he's a cold blooded killer, knows that the attention and the thorough fucking does not excuse the fact that he murders people in service to her father and his goon squad. Goddamn, she needs to get a boyfriend or something.

* * *

 _AN: so I've finally decided exactly where this story is headed and I'm so excited! It's gonna be part one of a two-part series which will lead into CA:TWS and then diverge from the canon plot (Civil War? What civil war?) Part one will be smutty goodness with sooooome plot (this is all going somewhere I swear) and part two will contain more plot. But, I've basically outlined the whole series and excited to see where this'll go._

 _Thank you kindly to those who've left feedback and thank all of you for reading. Let me know what you think so far and what think might be in store for Christina and Bucky!_


	8. Trouble is a Friend of Mine

_I don't own anything from the MCU, obviously._

* * *

 _Being with the Winter Soldier is something like heaven. If heaven is carnal, forbidden indulgence that tears through the very fabric of her being and leaves her ripped to shreds, but sated and longing for more. Christina suspects she must be some kind of masochist._

* * *

After being under close surveillance for nearing on six months with no sign of any further danger Christina's security escorts are dismissed. The twenty-four year old is glad for it. Being followed everywhere she goes every day for half the year is exhausting— for both her and the agents who are assigned to tail her. It also made hooking up with the Winter Soldier extremely difficult, so she's grateful to have her freedom reinstated.

Alexander Pierce offers to get her a chauffeur, but she turns her father's offer down. Christina never thought something as trivial as riding public transportation could thrill her, but taking the metro to class each day pleases her more than it should, she attributes it to being driven everywhere for the last several months.

The law student's life returns to normal, just a fraction. As much as it can when her father is the leader of a Neo-Nazi terrorist organization and her lover is an assassin. She takes herself to school and hangs out with her friends like a regular university student would. She goes to bed and wakes up in the morning knowing that no one is watching her. Or at least that's what she believes. Christina doesn't know it's just wishful thinking until it's too late.

It's just an average Tuesday, not unlike any other Tuesday that the blonde has ever had. Today there is a seminar she has to speak at, so she dresses nicely, minding the early December weather as she selects her her outfit for the day. Donning a modest, belted jumpsuit, Christina zips up the black and white ensemble. She shrugs on her coat and secures a pair of closed-toe heels onto her feet before heading out the door.

The winter air is cold and so she leaves a little early, hurries across the street to the busy cafe that is bustling with patrons, and buys her cafe a warm latte. Christina clutches the steaming beverage between her gloved hands, huddles further into her black coat as she makes her way to the nearest metro platform.

She attends her lectures as normal, eats lunch— with her best friend, Deja, and their classmates, Adam and Paola— as she usually does, and finally reports to her seminar as intended. Christina isn't fond of public speaking— who is?— but she's even more uncomfortable that day than usual. The twenty-four year old brushes off her nerves, despite feeling like she's under a microscope. She makes her presentation on _Law and Global Political Economy_ as eloquently as she can and then sits in on the two speeches that proceed her own. It's a mundane day.

As law students, professors, and even the few attorneys in attendance file out of the auditorium when the seminar is concluded, Christina stays on with her course professor. They discuss the topics of the morning's seminar and the class' next assignment. The blonde bids one of her fellow presenters farewell, promising to meet up for drinks some time, before disappearing into the now empty hallway. Paying more attention to her cell phone than her surroundings, she makes her way to the elevator and patiently waits for the lift. She doesn't even notice the figure following her down the corridor and down the end of the hallway, until a handkerchief is closing over her mouth and nose, her phone clattering to the linoleum.

It is dark. Wherever Christina is, it is quiet, cold, and most likely hostile. The woman tries to look around and realizes that it isn't dark, there's bag over her head— again. She curses mentally. Her hands are secured behind her back with what feels like maybe a zip tie, same for her legs. She's seated on cold metal, a folding chair, she assumes and can only hear the quiet dripping of water in the distance. No other sounds meets her ears at all, not the sound of voices, or a television or a radio. Not the chirping of birds or the rushing of wind. Not the sound of passing cars or distant traffic. The room must be sound proof, perhaps. The blonde wonders where she is and how long she's been unconscious.

After what must have been an hour someone finally comes to address her. Christina can't see them, but she can hear the door open and close as they enter. The bag is ripped off her head and her eyes are met with hazel eyes and short, dull, brown hair. The man in front of her is probably in his mid-thirties, maybe early-forties. He has squarish face, a long nose, high cheekbones, and thick stubble. Nothing about him is so terribly menacing that she's afraid, but at the same time she's being held captive in some dingy warehouse basement— at least she assumes it to be. The walls are grey, reinforced concrete and there are no windows, but the heating and ventilation pipes that stretch toward the ceiling allow her to conclude that she is in the lower most room of whatever building these strangers are holding her in.

For a long while the man doesn't speak, but when he finally does it's in a thick accent that she can't quite place. Is definitely not German or Hungarian, not quite Polish either. Croatian, Slovenian maybe? The man looks like he could be Slavic, or some kind of Eastern European. Whatever he is, he's not a friendly. "Hello, princeza."

Christina gives him an unimpressed look— why do people insist upon calling her princess?— and waits for him to get on with whatever he has to say. "Your father sent his hound to steal something very important from me. The fucker torched our headquarters and killed more than half my boys and while he was at it." The man explains, "You for my property, sounds like an even trade, doesn't it?" And, that's all he explains.

A guard— light brown hair, ink colored eyes, bulbous nose— files in as the man— the leader, she's come to assume— leaves the room. The guard is dressed in fatigues, a grey shirt, and a faded black jacket. He totes an assault rifle in his hand and a glock strapped to his thigh. This man is more menacing than the last to Christina, or maybe it's just the hungry way he's staring at her. She closes her eyes, sighs, wonders if anyone knows that she's missing yet.

Being taken out of cryogenic stasis is always jarring for the Winter Soldier. Every time he feels disoriented, lost. His legs are always weak, unstable, and he stumbles when he's hauled out of the Cradle. There are always numerous armed guards, toting automatic weapons, the muzzle of each gun trained on him as he barely catches himself from falling. He stands on unsteady legs and observes the nameless agents, who's faces he can't remember. Sometimes he recognizes his handlers or his superiors, sometimes he only recognizes that he must comply.

More often than not he's ordered of to the Chair to be wiped, but not this time. His handler, another who's name he can't recall, but his face he vaguely remembers— sharp features, tall nose, spiky black hair— orders him to to the medical bay for another eval. The Soldier rediscovers time and time again that standing is easy after cryo but walking is harder. Two guards normally have to drag him off to the Chair, but this time they haul him to the elevator and off the the med bay where a scientist, two doctors, and the man he recognizes as his superior are awaiting him.

The scientist hooks the disoriented assassin up to various machines, while the doctors poke and prod. Pierce and the handler— Rumlow is his name, he remembers now— are discussing something, probably his next mission. The head doctor turns to the leader with a full diagnosis of the Asset's physical health and the scientist deems him well enough to report for duty, before all three men in white coats file out the door. Only Pierce, Rumlow, and a small number of armed guards remain. The Winter Soldier is quickly debriefed on his mission.

A woman— his superior's daughter if his observations are correct— has been taken by the same renegade militia they'd stolen from not long ago. It is the second time the woman— Christina Pierce— has been abducted in a year. Something about that statement feels familiar, he can almost recall a dimly lit warehouse, a girl with a bag over her head, the fear in her eyes when he pulled it off, how light she was when he threw her over his shou— "Understood?"

The Asset makes eye contact with Pierce, lost in the whirl of what he thinks might be memories. He hadn't heard his superior, he doesn't voice that though. Alexander Pierce impatiently cocks an eyebrow, repeating himself once more, his voice dripping with annoyance. "No harm is to come to her. Is that understood, Soldier?" The assassin nods his comprehension and is sent on his way. In hall he is met by his team, a handful of skilled operatives that assist him in non stealth related missions. This extraction requires a team and so four agents follow him to the transport bay to depart for the operation.

An hour and a half passes in the damp, dingy basement with the creepy guard. Christina is exhausted, stiff, and bored out of her mind. The soldier surveying her hasn't looked away from the moment he entered the room and the way his eyes glide over her from head to toe is unsettling. She knows that look, most women do. The tension in the room is so thick it could be cut with a knife. The blonde refuses to make eye contact with him, she's afraid of what she'll find if she does, but she also refuses to close her eyes. Whatever they'd stuck her with is making her feel like she'd eaten a handful of sleeping pills or like they'd shot her up with horse tranquilizer— maybe they had. Knowing that if she closes her eyes, she may fall asleep. And, that if she falls asleep she knows the guard will jump at the opening of an opportunity.

Christina shifts on the metal folding chair. Her legs ache, longing to stretch, and the zip tie around her wrists cuts into her flesh. _God_ , she wants to sleep. She's drained, and cold, and hungry. Her stomach growls from lack of sustenance and she shivers despite her coat.

The guard continues to leer at her, watching her tremble, as he makes exactly the kind of comment she's been expecting. "Bet I can make you warm," His accent is thick too, thicker than the last man's. Stomach sinking with more than just hunger, dread fills her. She watches the man set aside his rifle and struggles in her chair. _No, no, no, no, no._

He takes off his jacket, crouches in front of her with a toothy grin. Christina thinks to her Soldier, prays he's on his way, hopes to any and every higher power that he's not far off. She knows the Winter Soldier would gut this man if he discovered the bastard even touched her. And, she'd enjoy it too.

"You are pretty thing." He tells her, in broken English, hovering close to her face. The young woman turns her head to the side, avoids how close his face is to her own and makes her expression like steal. The Asset is coming, she's sure of it. As the guard leans in close, she thinks about her soldier; about his long hair, and his pretty eyes, and the way he smiles for her sometimes. She feels breath on her neck and lips on her collar, but she thinks of the Winter Soldier and his chiseled jaw. The way his stubble burns her cheeks when he kisses her. Christina feels wandering hands and tugging fingers undo the belt of her black coat, but she thinks of leather gloves and metal digits, the way he's so careful with his deadly prosthesis.

A hand gropes her chest through the front of her jumpsuit and a part of her is grateful she'd chosen this outfit today. The man fumbles with the belt anchored at the front of her clothes before he realizes it's only there for decoration. The zipper of the one-piece is on the back and it would be difficult to get her out of the pants. Mentally praising herself, the blonde thinks of the last time, in the holding bay. Of the way they'd lied for hours, the way she'd curled into the Soldier's side.

A sudden, echoing bang rattles the basement and distracts the guard from his groping. He spares a glance at the door when more noise seeps through the air. The door bangs open, making the man rush for his rifle, as the leader from earlier bursts through the thick metal door looking ragged. More sound spills through the former silence without the door obstructing it, allowing them to can her the rapid pop of gunfire and the dying cries of numerous militia men. The leader slams the door shut behind him, locking it. He barks orders at the man in front of her in their native language.

"Sounds like the Winter Soldier's come for me." Christina muses, filled with a sudden boost of confidence even with the close call she'd narrowly escaped. The guard smacks her in the same instant that the door is ripped open, even despite its lock. There stands the assassin, dressed in his signature leather gear and black fatigues, armed to the teeth, and black mask in place. His steel eyes are colder than usual, she notes, as he shoots the leader point-blank in the skull without even the slightest hesitation.

The guard maneuvers himself behind her, points his weapon at the back of her skull and begins screaming at the Soldier in another language. Long, blonde tresses are gathered in his hands, yanking back Christina's head as he yells at the Winter Soldier to drop his gun, that he would kill her otherwise. The woman has no idea what he's saying, but she knows he more than likely plans to hold her hostage, using her as a human shield while he makes his escape.

The Asset looks at him with cold, blazing eyes. He observes the red of Christina's cheek where the guard had struck her, her open coat, and the place where the strap of her jumpsuit had slipped of her shoulder, the guard's rumpled coat discarded on the floor. He's angry, she realizes, as she watches her soldier raise his hands defensively and lower his gun to the floor.

The rifle's muzzle leaves her head, is redirected at the assassin, the guard lowering his guard at his opponents loss of a weapon. Foolish. The man is barking orders, when a throwing knife glides through the distance between him and the Winter Soldier. It catches in the center of his chest, pierces the skin and buries in his flesh. The gun in the guard's hand goes off in a last ditch attempt to tag the Asset, but is easily dodged by the latter. The weapon tumbles from the man's hands as he collapses to the ground clutching his fatal injury.

Christina's soldier kneels beside her, cuts her loose from her restraints, and buttons closed her coat with gentle hands. She hauls herself out of the chair, nearly falling as her legs refuse to hold her up. The Winter Soldier easily catches her, steadies her on her feet, before shooting dissatisfied glare to the guard before them. He leaves her standing a few paces from them, crouches down in front of the man that'd kept her captive, follows the guard's line of sight to the blonde. He shoots the woman a pleading look that begs for her to order the assassin down. She looks away.

Gathering one of the guns that he keeps strapped to his thigh in his hand, the Soldier levels the enemy with his heartless stare. Finally tearing his pleading gaze from the woman, he directs it to the Asset, ready to plead for his life if necessary. He's met with only the muzzle of the assassin's gun. " _Mine,_ " the Winter Soldier growls and shoots him right between the eyes without a second thought. With the guard's corpse dead at his feet, her soldier returns to gather Christina up in his arms as if he hadn't just easily ended a man's life.

The Asset carries her out of the basement, leaving the bodies of the leader and the guard behind. The air is thick with the scent of blood and the higher up the stairs they climb, the more corpses they pass as they go. Too many for Christina's eyes to bear. She buries her face into the Soldier's neck, refuses to look at the lifeless bodies, clings to him despite herself. He'd done this, him and the team that they meet up with.

Four agents are awaiting them on the main floor, only one that she recognizes. The assassin doesn't put her down though and she's pretty glad for it. Christina isn't sure she'd be able to use her legs if he did. An agent, who is one of the Asset's handlers, directs him to take her to the extraction point and wait for the team to collect them while the rest of them stay behind for clean up. She realizes that there are no prisoners. The other guards, the militia's tac team, the leader, everyone is dead. Her stomach feels weak at the thought.

Outside a black jeep is parked behind the building, the Soldier places her in the passenger's seat and marches to the driver's side. Christina is exhausted, her eyes beg for sleep, but she knows it wouldn't come even if she closed her eyes, so instead she watches the assassin as he drives. They arrive at the same warehouse that they'd met the extraction team the last time she'd been taken. She barely recognizes it, as he gets out to open one of the garage doors to drive inside.

The warehouse is dark when they drive in, but the Soldier doesn't seem to need light to know where he's going. He parks the jeep and goes around to her side of the car, lifting her out of the seat before she even has the chance to speak. Christina doesn't really mind. He'd killed those men, but he wouldn't kill her. He'd kill anyone that would try to come for her, and there's a sick kind of comfort that she finds in that.

The Winter Soldier carries her through the dark into a small room that serves as an office. He flicks on the light, startling Christina as he does. She closes her eyes, nuzzles into his chest, blinks rapidly. The office is mostly empty, an old tube TV sits on a mount on the wall, a desk is situated in a corner with a computer chair pushed in underneath, a couch and a coffee table anchor the opposite wall. He sets her down carefully on the afformentioned couch.

Christina is still pretty shaken, despite being far away from the handsy guard and the corpses of his fellow militia collegues. The Asset begins to secure the perimeter, hunkering down to wait for extraction team, but when he notices her shaking he returns to the woman's side. Kneeling down in front of her, he holds her gaze, searches her cerulean eyes. "Status?" He questions softly. The blonde doesn't think she's ever heard him speak that gently.

Her eyebrows furrow, expression pinched, but when she reaches out for his metal hand, he lets her hold it. "I'm okay." She assures, but she doesn't even believe herself. "Sit with me?" Without hesitation the Soldier joins her on the worn couch, lets her curl under his arm wordlessly. The two of them just breath. Christina is safe, warm and protected. Her brain seems to recognize that as the assassin's arm tightens around her, because in a matter of moments she falls asleep tucked into his side.

The extraction team arrives twenty-five minutes later in a black van identical to the one she and the Asset had driven to the warehouse. The twenty-four year old is still asleep when Rumlow and a few of the other S.T.R.I.K.E. team members enter the office. The handler gives them an odd look, but says nothing aside from, "Mission report."

Without moving away from Christina, the Winter Soldier drones out a detailed report of the location, the number of hostiles, the time it took to complete the mission, the amount of casualties they'd encountered— none this time. "And, her?" Rumlow questions, that odd look is back again, probably because Alexander Pierce's daughter is all but cuddling a deadly assassin. "Sedative." He answers plainly, he'd seen the needle mark on her neck, he shifts to disconnect himself from her, but that's all it takes to wake her up.

Christina blinks, notices the other people in the room and nearly jumps out her skin. Her hands shoot out instinctively for The Asset, fingers clinging to the straps of his leather tactical gear. The latter doesn't even blink in response to her. "You alright, Miss Pierce?" asks Rumlow, sounding borderline amused. The young woman's mind is reeling as everything comes back to her like a wave crashing over her and she suddenly feels nauseous again. Or maybe hungry, she isn't sure. "I could really use a hamburger right about now. Or three."

The S.T.R.I.K.E. commandos laugh. Her jest seems to be enough assures for Rumlow, because the he orders the Soldier to prepare for transport. He scoops the exhausted woman up and carries her out to the transport van. "I've got legs, buddy." She jokes, even though they both know she doesn't want to walk. He says nothing in reply.

That evening sleep doesn't come for Christina. Every time she closes her eyes she sees the guard and the corpses, smells the scent of blood. She vomits three times in an hour before she gives up trying to sleep. She knows that Agents Braun and Lynch are guarding the perimeter around her apartment again, just like they had for the last six months, but that does nothing to relieve her. Maybe living in fear would always be a part of life now. With her father leading a terrorist party there could be no guarantee that his enemies wouldn't come for her again.

She is, however, relieved knowing that The Winter Soldier is also out there with the agents. Alexander Pierce having put on him on her perimeter next forty-eight hours. The assassin seems to sense her unyielding distress, because a few short hours later she finds him standing in her hallway. Christina is startled, but grateful to see him. "Are you allowed to be in here?" she jests, even as she pulls him away from the window and into her bedroom.

He shrugs, but his smirk is ever present. They hadn't said he could enter her apartment, but they also hadn't said he _couldn't_ enter her apartment. The Asset goes in regardless of the risk of being caught. He's a master of stealth and is less than likely to be caught by two lesser agents like Everett Braun and Conor Lynch. Christina doesn't seem to mind either.

The blonde helps him out of his tactical gear and fatigues, leaves him in his underwear. Under garments provided for The Asset has evolved with time, but black boxer briefs are standard issue for him nowadays and Christina loves them. They're plain and simply, but undeniably sexy, and they serve their purpose well enough. The woman pushes him onto the bed and smiles at her. She'd long since abandoned the jumpsuit and heels she'd worn earlier, wearing instead a wrap cardigan and a pair of plain, black leggings.

She toes out of her leggings, but leaves on her cardigan, clamoring onto the mattress after the assassin. Her lips make a bee line for his, kissing the Soldier happily before curling into him. Their positions mirror that night in the holding bay, her body crowded close to his despite her queen sized mattress. His metal arm wraps around her waist, pulls in close. Christina decides she could get used to this— probably a terrible idea.

A long moment of silence passes, not uncomfortable but still filled with thoughts unspoken. The blonde shifts onto her stomach, her folded against his stomach and her chin resting on his chest. Cerulean meets steel blue and the woman gives him a weak smile. "I was scared today," admits Christina, "I was worried you wouldn't come."

The Winter Soldier holds her stare, sees the unbridled honest behind them and the fear. His metal arm anchors her to the moment, keeps her from slipping back that freezing warehouse, chases away creeping recollection of the dingy basement and the wandering hands. His thumb eases comforting circles into her back. She is warm and safe in her bed with her soldier, no one could hurt her here. They'd die trying.

"Did that man hurt you?" Questions the Asset, voice harsh. Whether it's from lack of use or rough because of the topic, she isn't sure, but she shakes her head, no. Though after a pause she adds, "But, he could have." They both understand that everything about the situation is shit, that there's so little the two of them can do. His left hand glides over her back, cold metal mapping her spine and tangling in her long hair. The Soldier kisses her mouth. They decide not to dwell on that which they know they can't control.

She doesn't know how long, but she manages to sleep. The clock on her nightstand reads 4:12 AM and the Asset still lies in bed beside her, metal arm slung over her waist. Christina doesn't know if he's slept, but when she glances up blue eyes stare back into hers. She gives him a tired smile, shifts onto her back and stretches her worn limbs, groans at her creaking bones. Steel orbs watch her antics with an amused smirk. "Did you sleep?" questions the blonde, not even the slightest bit surprised when he shakes his head, negative.

"You have to sleep sometime you know." The Winter Soldier levels her with a bored look, "I sleep in cryo." He responds plainly, but sounds borderline defensive. She shifts, sits up in bed and faces him. "That's not the same thing," insists Christina but seeing his pinched brows, she thoughtlessly wonders aloud. "You really hate it in there." It comes out as a statement, but it's voiced like a question.

"It's cold." He replies simply, as if that is that. As if the cold is all that's bad about it, not the morality of keeping a person— who can't properly consent to anything— kept in suspended animation. The Soldier sees the way Christina's face falls, knows she feels guilty, even if he can't understand why. It's not like it's her doing. A part of him feels compelled to ease that needless self-reproach. "But, I'm warm now."

Christina offers a mirthless chortle, eyebrows furrowing. "That so?" question the twenty-four year old. He says it like that's enough. Like everything else is shit, and cryo is cold, but's it's okay because he's warm now. She's know there's more behind his words— it's warm _here_ , it's warm _with you_ — but they always dance around discussing whatever this bizarre relationship of theirs is.

He nods, gives her that gentle look, like when he'd spoken softly to her at the extraction point, and it makes her smile. Christina hauls herself into his lap, "Well Soldier," she grins, pulling her cardigan over her head and discarding it on the floor, "It's about to get a lot warmer."

The Asset thinks that she's cute in her bralette and matching panties, admires the lace with a hungry grin. Steel eyes blaze with lust and he yanks her down to meet his lips, tongue invading her mouth. Flesh and metal hands slide up and down her sides in tandem, they guide off their undergarments and ease between her thighs.

Christina sighs into his mouth, jumps when his thumb finds her clit and groans. The metal arm wraps around her back, steadying her as he lifts her up enough to press inside her. A garbled cry leans her throat without her permission, "Oh, _god_." The blonde moans, bracing herself as he fills her up, "Fuck." The Winter Soldier nods almost in reply to her cursing, releasing a moan the rivals her own.

Their position has him reeling, recalling that first time— on her father's couch— but he hadn't been inside her then, so the angle is new and exciting. Christina quickly finds her own rhythm, her palms flattening on his chest to steady herself. Lying flat on his back, the assassin has little more to do that lay back, relax, and enjoy. And enjoy, he does. Being able to watch her over him, bouncing uninhibited on his cock, and giving him those hungry eyes is like a fucking blessing. His mind plays on an endless loop; this woman is fantastic, this woman is incredible, this woman is _mine_!

The Asset's head falls back against the pillows. He feels his eyes longing to roll back into his skull, but he forces them to remain focused, watches her rise and fall on him in a steady gallop. "Fuck," curses the assassin, when she slams down on him particularly rough, making him moan out almost deliriously. He can't fight his eyes from fluttering shut as she keeps that rougher pace going, his flesh-and-bone hand grips her hipbone _hard_. "Fucking hell."

Christina huffs a giggle at him, slowing to a grind that works her clit against him and makes her spine shiver, "Still with me, Winter?" He opens his eyes, looks into the teasing cerulean irises and grins, before tugging her down to claim her mouth with another possessive kiss. Working toward her own pleasure, she continues grinding on him as he leaves numerous love bites across her neck and collarbone. She revels in the pressure on her clitoris until she's _so goddamn close_ and then the Soldier is pushing her off of him.

Bouncing against the mattress, Christina whines at the loss of the sensation on her clit. "What the _fuck_?!" bristles the blonde, until he's pinning her on her back and burying himself back between her thighs. Fucking the Winter Soldier is something like heaven, if heaven is carnal, forbidden indulgence that rips through the very fabric of her being and leaves her torn to shreds, but sated and longing for more.

He fucks into her and Christina becomes little more than soft flesh and sensation, unable to do anything but feel and take whatever he gives her. The way he picks up pace and hammers against her g-spot promises a wonderful, awe-inspiring release and he drives her right through the white-hot gratification of orgasm is pursuit of his own. The Soldier's mouth sucks vibrant hickies into the base of her throat as he closes in on his release. A very animal, very human part of him— all demanding and encompassing— wants everyone who looks at her to see that she'd chosen _him_. That she _belongs_ to him.

The Asset moans long and loud in her quiet apartment, the bass timbre of his voice echoing in her bedroom, filling the silence, and her mind, and her heart. She sobs out, overstimulated and shuddering at the feels of him filling her up with spunk. Her chest burns for the desperate need of air and she's overpowered by the ridiculous sentiment that fills her at the way he goes rigid on top of her, crumples into her chest and practically clings to her.

"You remembered me this time," she says after a long silence, the two of them panting in post-orgasmic bliss. He shoots her a cocked eyebrow, chortles as if he can't believe that he's bringing that up now. "I usually do," is all he says and that's enough for them. Because the likeliness of him recalling her after being wiped is slim, but somehow miraculously, he often does. And, that's good enough.

At dawn when his walkie crackles with static and he's order to report to an extraction point, The Winter Soldier dons his leather and fatigues and kisses her farewell. Him coming into her home changes things. Him worming into her life he belongs there, changes things. The fact they revel in each other's presence as much as they revel in the sex, changes things. No turning back now, she realizes.

* * *

 _So if you haven't already noticed, I changed the title of this story. That's just because I wanted it to make the series title and the title of part two. "The Woman, the Man, and the Serpent" is a reference to the title a painting which is related to said theme. The woman being Christina, the Man being Bucky, and the Serpent being Alexander Pierce or Hydra in general depending your interpretation. I thought it was fitting._

 _Despite the title revision, nothing's really changed about the story aside from the fact we're beginning to get into the plot, a.k.a. it's time for Feelings™!_

 _What'd you think about this one? It was pretty long, but it was practically writing itself this time around, it just kept on flowing. Thank you kindly for reading and leaving feedback!_


	9. My Lover's Got Humor, She's the Giggle A

_I don't own anything from the MCU, obviously. Or I'd be rich af._

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 _Long time it's been y'all. Imma be honest, I (ten million years late) got Netflix and it sucked my ass right in. I've knocked out Jessica Jones, Daredevil, and Luke Cage off my list since the last update. So yeah, sorry bout that. I'm honestly not coping well so I'm doing that watch-tv-to-forget-the-real-world thing. It's goin alright. Anyway new chapter, y'all. Title's supposed to be "_ _My Lover's Got Humor, She's the Giggle At A Funeral" but there wasn't enough space._

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It is a bright, sunny day early in the month of May at 37th & O Street. Applause sound as name after name is recited in a long line of graduates at graduation ceremony. A pretty, blue eyed, blonde haired young woman stands in a group of her peers— all dressed the trademark Georgetown blue and violet ceremony gowns— waiting for her name to be called.

"Christina Pierce," Silver heels clack across the red, brick pathway of Healy Lawn and the graduate in question shakes hands with the presenter, excepting her diploma with a proud smile. Today Christina Gabrielle Pierce graduates summa cum laude from Georgetown Law. Graduating with honor, with the highest of praise. Her father wants her to intern at some big time firm or to become district attorney (always nice to have the DA in your pocket), but Christina has reserves about that.

Her father, her aunt, her cousins and their husbands, and a handful of other select family friends—Deja, her parents, a few other members of her party— have a celebratory lunch Fiola Mare. They get a table table facing the Potomac, Christina enjoys a glass of her favorite Sauvignon Blanc over a lunch of Sardinian Ricotta Cavatelli and laughs with those her all close with her. But, all of it feels cold. Desolate, Empty.

She and Deja bid their families farewell after their meal. They head off to their friend Paola's apartment for rest and relaxation before they continue the celebrating with the rest of their graduating classmates. They enjoy some Mad Men and American Horror Story— and a few more drinks— before it's nightfall and their off to a graduation bash thrown by some friends.

Forty or so of her fellow peers have their graduation celebrations at a swanky, upscale bodega on DuPont Circle. They chat over fine wine and overpriced cheese, celebrate with numerous bottles of champagne. Everyone dressed in their fine suits and designer dresses.

Christina remains in the dress she'd wore to lunch and to the gradation ceremony, save for her cap and gown. The dress is scalloped lace, midi-length, and mimics the look of a crop-top and skirt, with a sheer stomach panel and a zip-back. It's a flattering shade of navy— almost indigo— that matched the blue and purple of Georgetown Law's graduation gown.

She stands there in her fashionable dress, next to well dressed friends, drinking expensive bubbly from crystal glasses and reminiscing over the stress of law school. Laughing and smiling among friends, Christina feels hollow. Like she's lying to the world.

She mingles and socializes, but she's really waiting for an appropriate time to slip away. Waiting for the opportune moment to say that she's tired, that's it's been an exciting, tiring day and that's it's time to hit the sack. When really she knows that at 20:00 hours the Winter Soldier had been set on the loose for a stealth mission and that he completed in a handful of hours.

That now it's 10:35 and his assignment would be finished, that he would double back to her apartment to see her before he had to meet up with the extraction team. That he was probably there waiting for her now. She's a little ashamed of how eager she is to leave her friends behind for the company of someone who's hands are stained with so much red.

Just as she'd assumed her favorite assassin is sitting in her living room when she arrives, decked out in his usual leather and fatigues. Christina spots him sitting on her couch from where she stands in the foyer, toeing out of her silver heels. The Winter Soldier doesn't so much as blink until she's in front of him. He looks at her, standing before him in her pretty lace dress and her polished updo, and wonders why she would willingly come home, knowing someone like him would be waiting on her.

Whatever the reason, he doesn't question it— he never questions much of anything. The Asset simply lets her climb into his lap and cover his mouth with her painted lips. Thinking and wondering is better left to those who can afford it.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" The blonde questions, pulling back from their kiss to thread her fingers through the assassin's long hair. He swipes his tongue over his mouth where he can taste her and her lipstick and raises a single dark brow in silent question. "I graduated from torturous American school system today." The victorious smile that spreads over her face fills him with a ridiculous sense of pride, despite having little actual knowledge of how it all works nowadays.

A part of him thinks that maybe he recalls the image of Brooklyn classrooms and the strict catholic school teachers that ran them with an iron hand— and punishing wooden rulers— but those memories flit away like all the rest.

The Soldier blinks, chasing away the ghost of long forgotten memories. He focuses on the woman perched on his lap, lets his hands wander over the sheer panel of her mock crop-top dress. "What will you do now?" Questions the assassin, not that it really makes a difference to him.

Christina is an intelligent woman, the kind of that could crush the world beneath her foot. He imagines that for her life would go on. That she'd become something fitting— life changing— eventually she would find a man who wasn't a murderer— a ghost—and then she would have children and teach them to mold the world in her hands just as easily as she does. That one day she would be hit with the reality of her ties to him, to Hydra, and she would run away without looking back. And, him? He would remain the Soldier, a loyal dog, a ghost.

That night her Soldier's eyes are distant, which is not unusual. It's the emotion swirling behind them that has Christina curious. Distant is routine, hollow is common, playfulness is occasional, but whatever emotion lies behind those steel blue orbs that night isn't one she's seen from him before. But, a lot of things had changed since she'd been abducted a second time five months prior. The Winter Soldier had called her his and though they definitely hadn't discussed it, it was clear that things were now different than they'd been at the start. For both of them.

He'd asked her what she would do now, but to be honest, Christina has no idea what to do with the rest of her life. She could certainly intern at one of D.C.'s many prestigious law firms, eventually open a firm of her own, or become a district attorney like her father wanted. But, that doesn't sound like the kind of future she wants to lead. Even her former dream of opening a firm all her own seems daunting and beyond her reach.

If she's perfectly honest with herself, ever since the Asset stormed into her life— guns blazing— she's had no idea what she wants out of her future. Everything she thought she knew was gone, it'd all been a carefully crafted illusion. Her father, her family, her life, the very fabric of her reality torn to shreds. Christina always thought she knew what she wanted for herself, but everything changed enter the Winter Soldier.

"I guess I'll make it up as I go," she tells him, arms winding around his neck. Maybe she'll do some soulsearching. The answer seems satisfactory enough for him, merely offering her a lopsided smirk before pressing forward to capture her bottom lip between his teeth. The law school graduate smiles into the kiss, grip tightening on his brunette locks. Metal and flesh arms wrap her waist, pull her flush against him. The Asset nips open Christina's mouth, tongue and teeth clashing against hers, stealing away her breath.

When finally the need for air consumes them, she pulls back gasping, even when he doesn't seem to miss a beat. His lips move down her chin, over her throat, tongue carving out the hollow between her clavicle. Heaving for breath, the woman clutches at the straps of his tactical gear, working open the buckles and tugging open the leather. She tugs the jacket down off of his shoulders and moves on to the utility belt at his waist.

The Soldier doesn't waste any time either, feeling for the zipper at the back of her dress, he works the lace garment off of torso, leaving it to pool around her hips and thighs. Taking a moment to admire the sheer paneling and scalloped lace of her lingerie set, his fingertips trace over the navy blue— almost indigo— material that matches her dress practically identically. He's fond of all her lingerie, seeing the different styles and trims are always among his favorite instances during their encounters.

Scooping Christina up, he makes a bee-line for her bedroom, practically tumbles onto the bed on top of her. The blonde giggles, laughter bouncing off the cream colored walls, filling the assassin's ears. The Asset kisses her again, mostly to distract himself from the prickling ache swelling in his chest at the sounds she makes. Fingers, with mauve painted nails, pop open his fatigues and guide them down his thighs. He yanks her panties down her legs, tosses them on the floor, quickly joined by her lacy bra.

Pushing her down toward the pillows, flattening her back into the mattress, the Winter Soldier crowds above her. Two hands grip the back of her thighs, he bends her in half, pushes her knees down toward her chest. Hovering over her, he pins her thighs forward with his cybernetic arm, palms his length with his flesh hand and then guides himself between her thighs.

Christina groans, hips tilted at an angle that has his cock pressing against all the sweet spots. " _Holy shit,_ " whines the blonde, eyes slamming shut. When she opens them again he's pressing forward, confident smirk plastered on his pretty face. "Feel good?" Questions the assassin, relentless hips pistoning forward. She nods wordlessly, the forward cant of his hips punching the air from her lungs and slamming her abused back against the mattress, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"Always so good for me, _krasavitsa_." the Winter Soldier says in this deep, gravelly voice, breath a little hitched thanks to the merciless drive of his hips. Christina keens, stretches up to hold her ankles, uses her arms to keep her knees anchored to the bed. The position has her thighs burning, legs trembling with the strain. Her lover doesn't seem to mind her aching limbs, merely continues his ruthless pounding.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Christina begins to chant the harder the Asset's hip start to slam. Steel blue eyes bore until her own, the direct eye contact only helping her along toward orgasm, until suddenly he stops. Repositioning her aching limbs, he places her legs around his hips and pulls her by her arms into a sitting position. The woman cries out, the angle jarring, driving him deeper into her.

He lies back with a moan of his own, upside down on her mattress, with Christina splayed over his hips. She gets the picture, braces her palms against the ridges of his carved abdomen and works her hips. The Winter Soldier grins, hunger unbridled in his blue-grey eyes, as both flesh and metal hands come out to gripe her hips. She rises onto her knees, his pelvis cupping the back of her thighs as he bends his legs, braces his feet on the pale sheets and fucks up into her.

Plump lower lip caught between his teeth, he practically growls. Watches the way his lover's head falls back in bliss and the moans leave her throat. Icy, steel eyes roam the curve of her hips, her waist, flat stomach, supple breasts, drinking every inch of heated skin and humming with appreciation. Christina's cries grow all the louder, back arching shamelessly as he bounces her in his lap. She reaches down, finds her clit, toys at the bud and holds his freezing stare. "You gonna come for me?" Asks the assassin, already looking triumphant. She nods, eyes closing in bliss just as a cold, metal hand reaches out, clamps around her throat and helps her along that last little stretch.

Christina chokes on her moan, air becoming trapped in her lungs, thanks to the grip of his left hand. His pace remains unchanged, his hips galloping toward the finish line despite the blonde's merciless orgasm. It rips through her with a strangled cry, her hand coming up to grip his wrist as she trembles above him. His flesh hand clenches with a punishing grip on her hips, sure to bruise in the morning, as he slams head first into his own orgasm.

" _Fuck!_ " The Asset groans, head falling back against the mattress and arms falling by his sides. She follows suit, bouncing on the mattress as she falls onto her side next to him on the bed. After a moment of trying to catch their breath, she turns to look at him, finding steel blue eyes already focused on her. "Holy hell, Winter." The latter only breathlessly nods.

"Who said that?" The Winter Soldier questions from where he lies on his side in Christina Pierce's bed, his voice interrupting the comfortable silence following their thorough roll in the hay. She's slumped beside him, leaning back against the headboard, her right hand bringing a cigarette down from her kiss-swollen lips.

"Said what?" asks the woman, a fine dark-blonde eyebrow arching as she looks over to the assassin in her bed. "The words on your side." He clarifies, cybernetic hand stretching out to skim over the aforementioned skin. Metal fingers trace over the phrase, ' _Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth_ '.

Christina turns toward him with a grin, "It's a quote from President Kennedy, something I got the first year of college because I thought it would piss off my father." She admits with a laugh as the Soldier turns onto his stomach, humming in reply as his head ducks down toward the the Edwardian script.

The intimacy of the action isn't usually present in their bedroom— or backroom— romps, even in their recent more impassioned rendezvous. Christina is mesmerized by his unusual behavior, watches his mouth moving over the black ink. Her free hand comes down to tangle in his mess of dark hair, breathing out a sigh when his tongue works across the marked flesh. He leans up, face level with hers, and she spies something dark in his eyes. Something between arousal, amusement, and recognition stirring in the vast abyss of his memory.

"I think I killed that man." The Asset admits, holding her gaze and looking expectant. He's expecting some kind of expression of horror, or disappointment, or fear, but is thrown when Christina out right laughs. Some kind of bizarre feeling of affection— is that what it's called?— fills him, as her fingers weave through his hair and she kisses his mouth. "Why does that not surprise me?"

* * *

 _How's it goin? Good stuff, not worth he read? The response to this is essentially crickets (aside from a lovely loyal few), tbh it makes writing this feel a little pointless, as bitchy as that sounds. Idk I'm just not feelin it so much lately. Which is balls, because I was pumped as fuck for this fic. But that could also just be how I'm dealing, so don't mind me._


	10. Me and the Devil Blues

_I don't own Marvel. Last I updated I was being a whiny lil ho. Sorry bout that. I was dealing with feelings_ _ **,**_ _but I've since dialed my Emotions™ back to to -1 where they usually are. Essentially I stowed my crap (with the help of Netflix, pizza, and my friends Jack and Coke). So now we're back in business, kids! To clarify chapter 8 was set in December 2008, 9 was in May 2009, and this chapter is set into autumn of 2009._

* * *

 _Babe, there's something wretched about this_

 _Something so precious about this_

 _Oh what a sin_

* * *

As far as soulsearching goes, she spends her summer being considerably less productive than her friends. Deja, and her now-boyfriend, Aarav, go on holiday. They spend the next several months in New Dehli, Dubai, and Istanbul. Adam moves to Manhattan and begins his job on Wall Street. Paola volunteers in Brazil and Argentina for the summer. Meanwhile Christina Pierce rotates between binge watching television, visiting The Vault, and sneaking around with the Winter Soldier.

He gets so few missions in the continental USA that dropping by her apartment isn't normally an option. But, from time to time he does have the opportunity to visit after an assignment is completed, before he's scheduled to meet up with the extraction team.

Nearly a year has passed since the time the assassin met Pierce's daughter. The pretty little blonde has honesty been a gift in his cold, empty life. After all the blood, the gore— the _red_ — he doesn't know how someone like Christina came into his life, but he knows luck enough to recognize it when it's staring him in the face.

Alexander Pierce is convinced his daughter is looking to join the ranks of Hydra, what with how often she visits The Vault, hangs around his office, peruses the halls. He hasn't a clue that between wandering the corridors and reading in his office, she spends a high percentage of her summer pinned underneath the organization's treasured Asset.

Christina can only imagine the kind of reaction it would elicit from her father. She thinks he'd probably have her killed, or worse, inducted. To be perfectly honest she's surprised the two of them have come this far unnoticed. Even that day, after her father becomes distracted by paperwork, she sees herself out and disappears to find her lover.

The assassin is between evaluations when she tracks him down to the observation bay. Entering, she finds him seated on an examination table, unguarded, staring off into space. The click of the door seems to jar him from his reverie. The assassin glances to the threshold, watches a blonde woman in a grey jersey dress and a pair of white sneakers enter the room. _Pretty_ , he thinks absently, despite looking void. Expression empty and emotionless, he levels her with steel blue eyes and Christina feels cold. "You remember me today?"

The man in question blinks, stares her square in the eye, and then looks down at the tile. "No." His response hollows the pit of her stomach, makes the ice of anger— disappointment— heartbreak— fill up the void. It's been a while since he'd forgotten her. Perhaps his recent mission to St. Petersburg would explain the relapse, the Russian sector always seems considerably more harsh with his routine. Each time he works with them on an assignment he comes back a little more empty than last she'd seen him.

Some part of the Soldier knows her, at least he feels that he does. The phantom sensation of gentle fingertips that ghost over his shoulders, clamp onto his throat, tug at his hair. The recollection of breathy panting that fill his ears, lips that steal his breath away. The smell of mango and pomegranate— forbidden fruit. This woman smells that way, like the glimpses of a ghost that lives locked away in the hollow of his memory.

Drifting back into the present, the assassin can see her plump, pink lips moving. He hears her talking with her voice like a wind chime. She's a beautiful girl, though he can't remember meeting her. But, he does remembers that he'd saved her— at least once— and that he's kissed her before— her tongue tasted like coffee and the mint of a menthol cigarette.

Finally tuning back into the words the pretty blonde is forming, The Asset forces himself to be present and pay attention to what she's saying. "I said, I can help with that, if you'll let me." A smile graces her lips, all sweet and encompassing— setting fire to his blood— but her tone of voice promises something far less innocent. He barely feels himself nod, but he does, and it's enough consent for the woman to make her move.

Crowding close to the assassin, Christina combs her fingers through his long dark hair, pushes his bangs back away from his pretty blue eyes. The Winter Soldier holds her gaze, staring back into her brilliant cerulean irises. He says nothing, but when she leans froward to kiss him, he angles his face and meets her mouth first. That day her kiss tastes faintly of the peppermint tea she'd drank on the drive over, he tries to commit that to memory.

Sensory overload burns through him, feeling suddenly all too aware of her heated skin and wandering hands. The scent of her changes as she kisses down his neck, still pomegranate and traces of mango, but sweeter— unafraid and _aroused._ He knows that scent, recognizes it somehow. And, when she sinks to her knees, pops the fly of his fatigues, and opens her pretty pink mouth, he prays. _God,_ he wants to remember this.

Eyebrows furrowing, jaw going slack, the Asset focuses on her mouth. Warm and wet, wrapped around his length. Fingers thread through her blonde locks, tangle in the gentle curls, as she hollows her cheeks. One of her fist closes around what she can't fit in her mouth, pumping in tandem with the bobbing of her head. "Fucking hell," the Asset curses, all puddy in her hands. _How the hell could he ever have forgotten that mouth?_

The Soldier lives for receiving, Christina has come to learn. Particularly he enjoys deepthroating, which of course is no surprise. Christina doesn't really mind, though as she sits in the back of a black town car next to her father— on their way to a late lunch at Ris on 23rd and L— her jaw feels stiff from the intense facefucking. She chuckles silently to herself, thinks about how appalled her father would be if he knew she'd been sucking off the organization's ever valuable Asset just ten minutes prior.

Alexander Pierce orders the ever simple grilled fish of the day— salmon— paired with feta and olive oil crushed potatoes with chopped egg and tomato caper vinaigrette and grilled lemon. His daughter picks her go-to food— pasta— and decides on Blistered Tomato Maltagliati. As they wait for their meals they each enjoy a glass of Pinot Noir and chat about various topics. The numerous job offers she'd received, about politics, about her cousin—Carol's— crazy antics. When the food arrives she picks over the fresh ricotta, basil, grilled swiss chard, pancetta and parmesan and stares out the window. Neither she nor her father are the type that try to eat and hold a conversation simultaneously.

Returning to The Vault, they walk in on the tail end of the Soldier's mechanical evaluation. His leather tactical gear is folded over his knee and his upper half is bare, shirtless so that the technicians can run diagnostics on his cybernetic arm. Pierce, his guard, and his daughter enter the fully occupied room. Three members of the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit are present, along with a scientist, a doctor, and two technicians, who are crowded around the Asset. Each of them bumbling around like busy bees.

Steel blue eyes meet Christina's cerulean and her mind flashes back to just an hour and a half prior, when she'd been crowding him too, but for a different, more delicious, purpose. The scent of sweet—now familiar to him— fills the assassin's nose and a hunger settles deep in the hollow of his chest. The Winter Soldier wants her again.

All but ignorant to her lover's longing— if not for his unyeilding stare— Christina leans back against the wall adjacent to the examination table and watches her father talk to the lead scientist and the head technician. She knows the Asset is watching her, but she also knows that Rumlow has noticed the assassin's hyper-awareness to her. From the corner of her eye she watches the commando glancing between the two of them curiously. Bravely she offers Rumlow a brief glace, keeping her face poised. She betrays no emotion, refuses to acknowledge either of the mens' looks, despite the heat at the apex of her thighs.

Nose flaring wide, the Winter Soldier inhales. Breathes in the smell of pomegranate and sweetness, longs to bury his face between his lover's thighs. He can't touch her here, not with the audience, but that doesn't stop the burning desire. The assassin is glad for the convenient placement of his tac uniform on his lap, he doesn't exactly know how he'd explain popping a boner on the examination table to his superior— considering the hard on is for the man's daughter.

When Christina files out the door after her father, she spares the assassin a telling glance. The Asset has a mission tonight, a simple high profile monitoring assignment, and after he sufficiently details his marks' routine, he'll be free to visit his lover. Russia was more than cold in temperature, he'd spent all his time strapped into The Chair or chilling in a cryotube. Assassin or not he's more than ready to get back to the warmth at Christina's side— even though he doesn't quite remember all of it.

As far as surveillance details go, the Winter Soldier finds politicians to be the most uneventful of his usual targets. When the boring, sixty-some year old, right wing conservative and his simpleton wife tuck in for the night the Asset is... happy— is that the right emotion?— to be able to rest his tired eyes. Come daylight he'll have to meet with yet another extraction team, but until then he knows a warm place to spend his free time.

Eight PM rolls around with no sign of the Asset, Christina is pretty sure her favorite assassin won't be making any surprise appearances that night. So she opens herself a bottle of Merlot, puts on a Robert Johnson record, and turns the dial to pre-heat her into her pantry, she picks up a long, purple aubergine and nods to herself, "Eggplant parmigiana it is."

An hour and a forty minutes later the Winter Soldier slips into Christina's apartment through the balcony door. It smells like food. Like tomato and cheese and— pomegranate. His lover stands at the kitchen counter, mixing a bowl of greens, humming along to the tune resonating through her home via an old record player. A man sings over the aged record, strums the strings of a guitar, and tells of hell hounds a'comin.

The woman sways to the song, stands all lovely in her cream colored, satin shorts and cool-toned, floral camisole. Long, wavy blonde tresses thrown over her shoulder and hang down her back, she looks comfortable in her pajamas. A glass of wine sits on the counter an arm's length from her, beside an open bottle. The assassin cracks a grin. Such a pretty little thing.

Christina jumps when she sees him, just barely, but enough that a smirk settles on his lips, as he comes to lean against the counter beside her. "What are you doing?" he questions, voice rough from lack of use again. The oven timer begins to beep and she leans down to retrieve the baking dish containing her meal. "Making dinner," she offers simply.

Meal time is a difficult concept for the Soldier, so dinner like the kind laid out in front of him is completely foreign. During missions he's provided MREs and they don't bother feeding him if he's being placed back in The Cradle, but when he isn't, they try to feed him twice a day. Usually a large helping of chicken or fish with vegetables, on a cafeteria tray, served with a lot of water. Not good but not bad, mostly just to keep him from losing muscle mass from the lack of regular proper nutrients.

So the home cooked Italian dish in front of him leaves him at a loss of words. "What is in this?" Questions the assassin after taking a bite. Christina glances at him, smiles and takes a sip of her wine, "Eggplant, cheese, tomato sauce." The Asset looks pleased as he shovels more food into his mouth. The woman has no idea what it is, but even something as simple and down to earth as him eating dinner with her is something Christina could get used to.

Another foreign concept to the Winter Soldier is dishes. He watches her, in her little satin pajamas, sipping red from her wine glass, swaying to another track on the record. More Delta blues. Soulful voice, subtle inflections of pitch, and smooth guitar. The fluid tune strikes a cord in him, like he'd heard it before. The assassin listens closer, but can't quite put his finger on the song. But, watching his lover humming along, he feels a line resonate in the hollow of his core.

 _Boy, dark gon' catch me here. I haven't got no lovin' sweet woman that love and feel my care._

Christina startles when both metal and flesh-and-bone arms wind around her slim waist, accidentally splashing dish water onto her pajama top. The blonde giggles, pretty wind chime laugh filling that hollow in his empty soul, as she turns in his arms. Trapped between his solid chest and the sink, she stares up at him, cerulean baring into steel blue. His right hand palms over the wet spot on her shirt, spots the strap of her undergarment falling off her shoulder with the floral strap of her wet top. He pulls the soaked material up over her head.

The bralettete she wears underneath is nude-toned, pale peach flesh, and lace. It's fitted and cropped just above her belly-button. So sheer, his eyes swallow he sight of her skin, like a man dehydrated. Fingers trace over the black ink of the tattoo on her side, then he's sweeping her up off her feet and spiriting her away to the bedroom.

 _Lord, that I'm standin' at the crossroad, babe. I believe I'm sinkin' down._

Cunnilingus has often been disappointing for Christina Pierce, at least with previous lovers. It is far from that with the Winter Soldier. He's eager and eats cunt like a man starved, he also really enjoys her sitting on his face. " _Oh fuck_ ," The blonde whines, panties that match her lace bralette left abandoned on the carpet and her ass planted on the assassin's chest, legs parted on either side of his head.

She buries her fingers in his dark hair as he grips her hips, whines at the slick of his tongue dipping between her folds. White hot heat courses through Christina's bones, has her chest heaving and her thighs trembling as the Asset nips, sucks, licks and nuzzles, like he's having the time of his life. Cerulean eyes rolling back into her skull, her palms falling back to brace against his chest as she fucks herself on the assassin's tongue.

"Winter, _fuck_!" she practically screams, hips stuttering as she crashes into her orgasm, latches onto his wrists where he's holding her hips. Chest heaving and legs shaking, Christina nearly falls off of him coming down from her peak. " _Jesus_ ," hisses the blonde, collapsing back on her bed. When the assassin sits up a triumphant grin is plastered on his face, she can only muster the strength the winkle her nose in response, worn out from the powerful climax he'd given her. "Smug bastard." The Winter Soldier merely shrugs.

The couple sleeps mostly through the night— well not the Asset, but Christina does. He only manages to to sleep in intervals of ten to fifteen minutes before he startles awake. He knows better than to allow himself to enter any deep sleep cycles, least he have one of his nightmares and accidentally harm his lover. Instead he opts for watching the latter sleep, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

When the sunlight begins to filter through her window, still faint but slowly rising, the Soldier finds himself bored. They say idle hands are the devil's workshop; idle lips, his mouthpiece. And, what better to with his restless fingers and willful tongue than to turn them on Christina. Wickedness loves company—and leads others into sin.

Gasping for breath, Christina finds herself awoken by the slick, steady stripes being licked between her thighs. She moans, parts her knees wider without prompting, and let's her head fall back against her pillow, "Good morning to you too, Winter." pants the blonde, fingers curling into the bedspread already.

The Asset hums in response without so much as a glance toward her face. The vibrations of his reply, combined with the pressure of his tongue on her clit makes Christina keen, back arching up off the mattress. "Well this is definitely one way to be woken up," She attempts to joke, despite her heaving chest, but the fingers that slip inside her stunt any further banter.

She don't know what time it is and she doesn't think to even check. Dim sunlight casts shadows across her windowsill and the floor of her bedroom. She closes her eyes, buries her hands in his hair, as he pumps two metal fingers into her cunt. With the assassin's tongue attacking her clit, Christina practically jumps out of her skin when her cellphone bursts to life.

A Jo Stafford song rings over the speaker, the call vibrations thrumming against her nightstand. She cracks open an eye, sees the name _Dad_ flashing over the screen. "Shit," whines the blonde, reaching out for the phone. She sees the time, 5:17 AM, as she presses the device to her ear.

"Morning, Dad." says Christina, a little louder than she usually would, as a call out for the Soldier to stop the ministrations below her waist. Which he doesn't heed. The woman nearly bites her tongue off trying to hold back a moan, as Alexander Pierce begins to rattle on about an acquaintance who'd reached out to him. Something about some D.C. based crisis management firm and two _fixers,_ named Anika Johar and Lisa Clarke.

Truthfully, Christina isn't really listening, she's more the a little distracted. Especially with the Winter Soldier eating her out and fingerfucking her into oblivion. Doing her best to contain the breathy whines, the little gasps, and cries of ecstasy; she makes it through the phone call and promises her father make it to the interview later in the day.

At the end of the call, her cell phone bounces against the carpet where she tosses it. "You're out of your mind, Winter!" She cries, sitting up on her elbows to glare at the man between her legs. The Winter Soldier smirks up at her with a wicked look, "You've no idea."

* * *

 _Btw, the title is a reference to Robert Johnson's song of the same name. Also the song Christina is listening to when Bucky walks in is "Hellhound On My Trail". I love Robert Johnson, sooo much, "Crossroads Blues" is one of my favorite songs and the song they're listening to while Christina is doing the dishes, which was recorded in 1936 so Bucky is more than likely to have heard it at some point before the war. But anyway, I thought it was a fitting title to the whole Heaven, Hell, Garden of Eden theme._

 _Also, while I've raked in my Feelings™ and pulled on my big girl panties, I'd like to say that I plan to continue writing this story (as I've already planned it out as far as the sequel. How do y'all like domestic!AU?) comments really help the process along. The response to The Grandstand Girl was so vast and I feel like that's the reason I was able to stow all my crap despite my dad passing away. Which is really why (among other things) I've been hanging out down here in the dumps of Emotionville. And, though I know I don't owe anyone an explanation, it's safe to say I'll probably be back here again, so to keep the typewriter a'flowin I'm probably gonna need the extra push. So thanks to those of you who commented you're truly the driving force of these updates._


	11. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_I don't own Marvel, obviously._

* * *

 _We're startin' to get into it now, kiddies! Christina starts her new job as a "fixer", think Olivia Pope in Scandal, you know with out her sleeping with the president and all. And so begins her descent from the straight-and-narrow._

* * *

After another round in the sack, pinned on her back under The Winter Soldier, he leaves before the morning rush gets on. Christina finds herself sated and ready for another nap, and it's not even 7 AM. With a sigh, she rolls out of bed, yanks off her only remaining article of clothing— the bralette— and turns the dial for the shower.

Being the Asset's lover has it's upsides— no clingy boyfriend behavior and the best sex of her life— but the downside is it's mostly riddled with guilt and doubt. They usually come in waves during the morning after, or in the car ride away from The Vault if they'd been together there.

Christina tries to look past the the dubious manner of it all, and on most days she can— she's considerate of his consent, of his mental status, as best she can be in their situation. On other days the shame eats through her whenever she looks in those steel blue eyes. The young woman honestly wonders how she'd gotten here from being kidnapped.

Thoughts like that are the kind that lead Christina to drink, so after a yogurt bar and some liquid courage, she's able to rake up enough ambition to meet the so called _fixers_ who'd reached out to her father. Donning a navy blue bodycon dress and a high collar, quarter-sleeve jacket, the young woman tugs on her metaphorical big girl panties and heads off for her interview.

The _fixers_ , professionally known as crisis managers, Anika Johar and Lisa Clarke, turn out to be two powerhouse ex-attorneys that spearhead the firm Valkyrie Consultants. Anika Johar— a lovely Indian woman in her early-forties— does most of the talking but it's ultimately Lisa Clarke— a tanned brunette in her mid-forties, with a southern twang to her voice— that offers Christina a position as a 'Public Relations Specialist'.

Having graduated top of her class, summa cum laude, from ever prestigious Georgetown Law, with her sparkling new Law Degree and connections to the World Security Council, the young woman had easily caught their eye. Christina leaves the building with a new job and a renewed drive of ambition.

Alexander Pierce is in some kind of long meeting when she shows up at The Vault, but the Asset is prepping for transport in T-minus one hour and fifteen minutes. She comes across him by chance, en route from the holding bay to the armory, and when he lays eyes on her, he looks a little surprised to find her there.

The hallway is empty aside from the two of them, but when she practically launches herself at him, the assassin still glances around in alarm. It's a bold move, but Christina is too excited to care. "Another congratulations are in order," she informs, between kisses pressed to the Soldier's hot mouth. His metal arm wraps around her waist, pulls her flush with him as he opens a supply closet door with his free arm and ducks inside.

Blood coursing with the excitement of landing her new job and the thrill of possibly getting caught in a scandalous rendezvous with the Fist of Hydra, Christina tears into the straps of his tactical gear. The Asset helps her remove the leather garment, then yanks her jacket off her shoulders. Her manicured fingers unbuckle his belt and pop open his fatigues, while his flesh hand reaches around to find the zipper on the back of the blonde's dress.

The navy garment pools on the floor around her heel clad feet. "Congratulations for what?" the Winter Soldier questions, a little late, but at least he still has half a mind to ask, considering their current activities. He takes a moment to admire his lover, in her pretty lingerie set— all black lace and indigo satin— watches the triumphant grin that cracks over her cute mouth. "I got hired at a Crisis Management firm today." He doesn't know what that is, but can tell that the blonde is pleased with herself.

The assassin presses a greedy kiss to her mouth, presses her back into the nearest wall, and shoves a hand into her panties, "Good girl." Only able to moan in response, Christina tilts back her head as her lover begins to kiss down her throat. She nods, the praise doing wonders for her, along with his thumb petting her clit. "Shit," curses the blonde, this man is going to be the death of her.

Pushing his underwear and fatigues down to his knees, the Asset levels her with a lascivious stare. "On your knees," he demands and Christina doesn't hesitate to obey. She drops to the floor, concrete burning her knees as she settles but thankfully not tearing the flesh. Giving a pleased moan, the assassin pumps his length, guides himself into her mouth and fists his metal hand in her long hair.

Christina breathes through her nose, widens her jaw, and sits up on her haunches to follow the tug on her hair. Looking him in the eye through long lashes, she's proud of the delirious moan that escapes her lover at the eye contact. The Winter Soldier's hips begin to move as he fucks into her warm, yielding mouth.

"Relax your throat," he instructs and she follows his direction, maintains eye contact. With a groan, Winter slams into the back of her throat, nearly making her choke. She gags, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as he pounds into her mouth. Christina feels hot and lightheaded, skin heated and cunt clenching in response to the sounds the assassin is making.

He widens his stance, sets a brutal rhythm, and let's his free hand join the metal hand at the back of her head. "That's a good girl," Winter purrs, tangles his fingers in the locks and holds her head steady for his pummeling hips. She forces herself not to gag on his cock and shifts on her burning knees. Steadying her palms on his muscular thighs, she whines. The grip on her hair makes Christina's scalp burn and harsh fucking of his hips makes her jaw ache. But the sounds he's making, the desperate groans, his pinched eyebrows and blue-grey stare— worth it.

The Asset inhales, breathes in the scent of pomegranate, mango, and sweetness. _Right, focus._ Pulling her off his cock, he smears the tip across your her bottom lip, slicking it with with pre-cum and her saliva. Staring down at her from his significant height, he pulls her up off of her knees and kisses her. Winter groans, tasting himself on her mouth as he bends over, hooks his arms around the underside of her knees and picks her up.

Winding her arms around the assassin's shoulders, Christina lets out a muffled groan, "Oh god," Her shoulders knocking against the closet wall, she buries her fingers in his dark tresses and yanks his mouth to hers. Their kiss hot, tongues clashing; that day she tastes like sweet apple cider. The Asset grips his length, swipes the head across her slit and then guides himself inside.

Christina feels like the breath is being punched out of her, but Winter swallows her scream. Their teeth mash, the assassin moans at the sensation of sinking into her slick, encompassing heat. He flexes his arms, grips her thighs and propels his hips forward. "Holy shit," Christina whines, yanks his long hair in her palms and buries her nose in the curve of his throat.

He picks up pace, driving into her hard, forcing her to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain her screaming. Winter crowds forward and sucks a hickey into the side of her neck, licks down the column of her throat, tongue dipping into the hollow of her clavicle. "Such a good girl, _krasavitsa_ , takin' me so sweet."

 _Praise kink_ , the woman muses internally. Christina hears the hint of an accent bleed into his speech, wonders where it could be from— sounds to her like New York— and what her lover would sound like if he talked with it all the time. She moans, whines, tugs him by the hair back to her mouth. The Soldier's hips begin to drive harder, cock punching into her without abandon, driving the breath from her lungs.

She can feel that sensation building on her clit, the precursor to her every orgasm. The Asset shows no mercy, finds the sweet spot inside her and abuses it with his hammering cock. "You gonna come for me?" Winter questions, a toothy wolf grin spreading over his face. Christina nods, her thighs quaking, back arching off the wall as she crashes into her climax with her face buried in his neck.

"Good girl," The assassin praises, his hips continuing at the same unyielding, brutal pace. The closer he gets to reaching his own peak, his hips begin to stutter, his chest heaving. The Winter Soldier sets his lover back on her feet, "Need your mouth, doll." And, with that Christina is clamoring to her knees and opening her pink mouth.

She looks up at his heavily lidded gaze, pupils blown wide, a narrow ring of blue grey staring back at her. Taking him into her hot, wet mouth the blonde hollows her cheeks and works her head up and down. Metal fingers tangle in her hair and the Asset moans. Christina palms his scrotum, swallows him down to the hilt, and let's him fuck her mouth.

A few thrusts later and Winter is yanking her off his length with her cybernetic arm and pumping his cock with his right hand. His lover opens her mouth, tongue sticking out, waiting as he jerks himself to completion and finishes on pretty face. Christina maintains eye contact, watching him come hard, painting her cheek with his spunk. It's a favorite of his, coming on her face. He revels in it, it's degrading in a manner, but so hot. Not to mention how much he likes the cute way she wrinkles her nose in response every time.

Looking at him with with spunk on her chin, Christina's nose screw up on queue. "I know some women don't swallow, but you know, I don't actually mind." Tsks the blonde as she reaches out to the supply shelf beside them and wipes the semen from her face with a rag. Winter cracks a wicked grin, "You're always prettiest with my cum dripping off you." Her face goes pink, heat settling between her thighs again. _Fucking praise kink_.

Following their supply closet tryst The Asset is assigned operations in the Middle East and Europe, it's a little boring— lonely— without him around. But it enables her to throw herself into work at the firm. Valkyrie Consultants is a fast paced crisis management firm and although she has no actual courtroom experience, she's treated well by her colleagues and quickly assimilates. But, she finds it to be a lot less straight-and-narrow than she'd pictured.

On her very first case she consults along side PR specialist Thomas Hansen, an intense but dashing man in his early forties— former detective, ex-military, efficient and every bit as strict as a drill sergeant. Unfortunately Hansen meets what would have been his match— in the form of one Senator Moore's ex-lover, many years her junior and also ex-military— if not for a little push from Christina's connections.

Senator Donna Moore is supposed to be a 45-year-old, happily married, mother of three. Another classic story of the adulterous wife sleeping with a much younger lover. 19 years younger to be exact. 26-year-old Staff Sergeant Joshua Wood had a brief but steamy relationship with a the Senator until the time he began demanding things. Money, favors, better pull to climb the social ladder. Senator Moore hires Valkyrie Consultants to ensure her family— or worse, the media— never discover her little indiscretion.

But, as most things go, nothing comes easy. Staff Sergeant Wood isn't frightened off by what like legal mumbo jumbo they can toss at him. Even Hansen has no luck scaring the kid straight, so Christina gives it a go.

"Hey, Dad?" the young consultant calls from across the dinner table at her father's home one evening. Alexander Pierce looks up expectantly over his glass of wine, "Yes, dear?" And, out pours the confidential details of the Moore Case. Her father nods along as she speaks animatedly about the Senator and her former fling, even offers a few suggestions that her team had already tried. At the end Pierce has a grin on his face. "Well if the law doesn't intimidate him, then we'll just find another way to persuade him, sweetheart. I'm sure Agent Rollins or Agent Rumlow would be happy to lend you a hand."

The blonde gives her father a skeptical look, "I don't know, Dad. What if—" Pierce cuts her off. "Nonsense, Christina. I'll give the order after dinner and you should see results by noon tomorrow." Her father tells her. And, despite the ice sinking inside her Christina picks up her glass, nods, and drinks down her wine. Everything feels wrong. But, come 9 AM she receives a single two word text.

" _"It's done."_ -Rumlow"

Simple as that, nothing more. Christina is a little doubtful, but like clockwork her 10 AM meeting comes 'round and her team member, Andrew Russell, informs them that Wood apparently accepted the Senator's bribe and disappeared off to Amsterdam on a flight Russell confirms he'd boarded. And, just like that she descends into darkness.

* * *

 _As always thanks to those of you who commented, and thanks to the rest for you for reading! How are we liking how the story's going? How are you feeling about The Winter Soldier or Christina and her new job. We may be seeing more of Rumlow. Thoughts?_


	12. I'll Be Damned

_I don't own Marvel, obviously._

* * *

 _I started some new work recently, so my feet are killing me and it took me literally two weeks to write this._ _—sighs— I'm so excited for the sequel of this, but writing the rest of part one feels so tedious. But, I have some plot points that have a set dates (Avengers and The Winter Soldier) but the pay off is going to be domestic goodness so it's thankfully still got me motivated._

* * *

Christina second guesses her relationship with Winter.

* * *

A few months later her Soldier comes back from whatever madness Hydra had their fingers in this time and he's cold. If last time Christina thought he was cold, then this time he's ice. He's cold as the cryo the Russians kept him in. When she sees him next, it's in the transport bay. The Winter Soldier is back and much worse for wear than when he left. He doesn't remember her that day or six days later when they're unfreezing him pre-mission

Christina is admittedly disappointed when the only greeting she receives from her lover is his thousand yard stare and cold gaze. She watches from the other side of the medical bay as the doctors and scientists poke and prod, and all the while The Asset watches her. Women are a rarity in this part of The Vault, aside from nurses and the occasional Agent.

The Soldier keeps his eyes trained on her, wondering what her purpose is. By deduction he concludes she isn't a nurse. She isn't hovering beside the doctors, taking orders or administering injections. Though her coat is a shade of white, it isn't a lab coat. It's cream colored with a belt and black accent buttons. Underneath she wears a white turtleneck tucked into a leather skirt, and on her feet, a pair of ankle strap, snakeskin heels.

Winter surmises she isn't an agent either, not with the idle way she leans back against the wall. The other agents seem to disregard her or at least they pay her no mind. Perhaps she outranks them, but he can't be sure. The blonde leans against the opposite wall, watching on as the Secretary and the scientist discussing his status. When the scientists and doctors have finished looking him over, they file out after Alexander Pierce. The rest of the armed guards follow, but the woman stays in her place until the agent with spiky black hair turns to her pointedly.

Christina pulls away from her spot on the wall with a sigh. The assassin is still watching her, but his glare— cold and void— isn't the same vigilant, hungry stare. Agent Rumlow looks back to her expectantly and despite her disappointment, she takes her leave. The Winter Soldier watches on from his place at the examination table as she goes, frowning as she passes. And as she goes the scent of pomegranate wafts over him; a smell he remembers, but it isn't until hours later that he recalls in what context.

Christina comes home from work at half-past eight that night and doesn't bother switching on her lights. She ambles through her dimly lit apartment, chatting animatedly on the phone with her best friend about her current client— Bryson Lambert, a troublesome frat boy who's State Representative father wanted the mess his son made mopped up.

Sauntering into her kitchen in search of something to cook for dinner, Christina nearly drops all her things on the floor. At her breakfast bar sits a shadowed figure dressed entirely in black. The blonde jumps, gasping into her cell phone and clutching her chest as she switches on the light. "Everything alright, Chrissie?" She hears through the phone, but is preoccupied with the Winter Soldier seated at her kitchen bar. "Sorry, Deja. I've gotta go, my dad's on the other line." And, with that she hangs up.

The Asset sits across from her, black mask covering the bottom half of is face, and both of his sidearms placed on the counter between them. At first she wonders if it represents some kind of silent threat, but she observes their placement— on the center of the table, within her reach— and realizes it's a sign of submission. Christina glances up and looks at the assassin, observes his cold gaze and empty steel eyes.

"You remember, then?" questions the woman and despite his cloudy mind— his swimming thoughts, the blurry memories— he nods. But, he doesn't quite. Winter recalls glimpses, remembers the scent of pomegranate, can recollect enough to know he'd taken her to bed on more occasions than one.

Christina sighs, shrugs out of her cream colored coat. The Asset watches her place aside her work portfolio and her black handbag. The blonde comes to stand beside him in his seat, hand stretching out to thread through is dark hair and he resists the urge to flinch. His emotionless steel gaze meets her own, observing her with empty blue eyes. She reaches up to remove his leather mask, fingers tracing over his chiseled jaw.

The assassin's hands trace over her waist until his fingers find the zipper on her skirt and soon he works the leather garment down her legs. Christina stands there in her turtleneck and panties. Cold metal digits trace around the hem of the flower pattern lace garment, then up over the flat of her stomach, pushing up her sweater as his fingers travel higher. She shivers when they dance over her rib cage, brush over the underwire of her bra.

Christina lifts both of her hands and pulls the top up over her head as the Soldier rises out of his seat. She stands there before him in her matching lingerie, unabashed and resolute. The blonde pops the snaps and straps of his tactical gear, helps him out of his leather confines. Without pause the assassin guides her face toward his, lips covering her own and tongue invading her mouth. His lover tastes of menthol cigarettes and the bitter zing of espresso.

The Winter Soldier hauls her off of her feet and Christina wraps her legs around his waist, clings to his shoulders as he carries the woman off to her bedroom. He isn't sure how he remembers where to find her bedroom, but his feet carry them to her bed where the assassin dumps her onto the mattress. Inhibitions tossed to the wind, he yanks down his fatigues and boxers in one go. Hesitation be damned.

Metal fingers tear away her lace panties and Christina whines. That night he's rough, rushed, like she'll disappear between his fingers if he lets her go. The assassin doesn't even bother with her halter-bra before he flips her onto her stomach, a position he greatly favors. Pushing her face down into the comforter, he holds her hips steady, keeping her rear raised in the air.

The blonde can feel him behind her, his breath fanning over her shoulder. Winter jacks his length— once, twice— before smearing the leaking tip over her folds. Christina's moan turns into a whine as he pushes inside. She her forearms on either side of her, her face pressing against the bed as he thrusts forward without interruption. He fucks her straight through her slight discomfort, no foreplay this time around.

The combination of a whine and a grunt escapes her as the Asset plows into her, his thrusts brutal and slamming against her sweet spot with every forward cant of his hips. " _Fuck_ ," Christina hisses, breathless. Neither of them are known to be dominant or submissive, Christina is used to being roughed up by the Soldier. Simply because of the difference in size and strength. Often she uses him to get off as much as he does her, but that night she feels small, pliable— easy to be bent to his every will. She doesn't mind, but later in the shower she will stare wistfully at the bruises and on how far things have come.

He isn't gentle— he isn't usually either— but this time it's a menacing kind of brutal. " _Krichat' dlya menya_ ," Scream for me, he demands in Russian and she obeys. She cries out with every thrust and his flesh hand comes out to push her face into the comforter. Her legs tremble, thighs aching and knees weak as he pounds into her ruthlessly, drives the breath from her lungs. He doesn't drag this suffering out for long. The Asset fucks her to completion, metal thumb coming 'round to pet her throbbing clit and Christina comes with a strangled cry.

It doesn't take long for him to topple over the edge after her, cock squeezed tight by her spasming cunt. Over stimulated and out of breath, Christina whines when he clamps her hips with his bruising grip and fills her with spunk. With a few more thrusts, he withdraws from the sticky sweet of her, come slipping on the back of her thighs. Winter breathes a sigh and flops onto the mattress beside her. The woman rolls onto her side and faces the assassin, as he levels the ceiling with glazed, unseeing eyes. She watches on, feeling tender and exhausted from the thorough fuck. When Christina wakes her bed is empty and her lover is gone.

For the first time since the start of all of it, the young woman feels regret. More than the vague, wistful twinge that sometimes finds her the morning after or on the drive home. That morning it wages over her like a raging war. Bitter is regret, she finds. For the first time in a year Christina Pierce takes a moment to properly assess the manner of their relationship.

She knows there is no future in sleeping with the Winter Soldier. Knows that being caught would warrant punishment for both of them, maybe even death on her part. The toll it takes on her conscience is bad, but the effect it's had on her interpersonal relationships is much worse. The guilt is eating her alive, constantly lying at every turn.

At the beginning the likes only extended as far as her father, pretending to be visiting _him_ at work when she was really there to see the Asset, coming over to his home hoping to run into Winter there. But, then came the little lies about where she'd gotten her bruises, _no that isn't a hickey_ , having to turn down date offers, not being able invite people over should the assassin show up unannounced. Soon she was lying to her friends, to her colleagues, to herself.

The assassin soon departs again on another long haul stint, this time in Eastern Europe. Christina spends the next several months pretending she wants to pursue other options, allowing herself to be set up on the dates she'd been avoiding.

The first being the charming, Mateus from Portugal, who she meets through her coworker Jordan— he's unbelievably attractive, but the dates only last two weeks because he's too difficult to communicate with as he mainly speaks Portuguese.

Next comes a stuffy Agent named Gavin who she meets at the Triskelion when she goes to visit her father— they last exactly four weeks, because following their third date he starts asking for nudes anytime he texts her after 8 PM.

After _Dick Pic_ as Deja enjoys calling him, Christina has a cosmo-clouded three way with a blonde haired, blue eyed lobbyist named Kyle and his pretty brunette date, Gina— she and Gina later have dinner and drinks on two separate occasions before deciding to go their separate ways.

Christina takes a dating interlude after the Soldier returns to D.C. for exactly three weeks. He's kept in cryogenic stasis the entire time, aside from the evening he arrives and the day he's scheduled to leave. They're in the same room for all of ten minutes and aside from his ever watchful steel-blue stare, he shows no sign of recognizing her. He leaves without so much as a final glance at her and it sets her back an entire month.

Following several weeks of burying herself in work and drinking alone way more than is considered acceptable, Deja is able to convince her to come out to DuPont Circle to the numerous clubs they used to frequent back in college. She ends up getting plastered and going home with a hot Bulgarian interpreter named Teodor— in hindsight Christina is a little embarrassed in the morning when she realizes that he's dark haired and blue eyes, like a certain _someone_.

Afterwards Deja sets her up on two separate dates, one with a sweet but clingy Polish speechwriter named Konrad— it lasts about a month before she decides to break it off when she finds him going through her text messages. The next second, a Lithuanian policy analyst named Lukas— who she sees for three weeks before she meets his ex-girlfriend _Crazy Nicole_ , who's nickname is made clear when Christina finds the woman sitting in the backseat of her locked car one night when she gets off of work. Needless to say, she goes back to using the chauffeur.

"Why do you keep setting my up with Eastern European guys?" Christina questions, "That's your type," Deja insists, which she of course denies, but her best friend merely raises a brow at her and crosses her arms. "Misha Collins." says Deja simply, the blonde can merely nod.

Following Lukas she goes on two dates, arranged by her father, with a man named Dustin— who after the second date puts his hand on her thigh during the drive home and then proceeded to attempt to invite himself in.

It's March of 2010, a total of five months after their last tryst when the Winter Soldier returns. Christina passes him in the hall of The Vault and sees his steel eyes, colder than ever, trained on the floor as he passes. Later in the med bay his eyes are considerably less frosty as he looks over her, idling in her usual spot on the wall.

This time the pretty blonde pays him no second glace, instead she watches his superior speaking to the doctors and scientists, and when Pierce leaves the woman files out along side his handler with the dark, spiky hair.

That night they place the Asset in the holding bay, no point in freezing him when he has a mission in less than twenty four hours. On his second day he remembers a lot more than he did when he arrived. The absence of his superior's daughter in The Vault is sorely felt by the Winter Soldier.

He's left to his own devices all of the following day and when the blonde still makes no appearance by the time mission prep rolls around, the assassin begins to wonder if perhaps she's just something he dreamed.

At 21:00 hours the Asset has a recon assignment that he completes five hours before his scheduled extraction time. On his way to the extraction point warehouse he remembers where he normally goes after missions and he recalls Christina.

Christina fiddles with her keyring, anxiously toying with the metal keys between her fingers, as she stands bedside her date of that evening— a charming campaign manager named Noah, who she'd been introduced to by her coworker, Ava. They've just concluded their third date, a tour of a local art gallery and a two-and-a-half hour dinner cruise on the Potomac River aboard the Odyssey.

Needless to say it was a lovely, out of the ordinary idea in comparison to the traditonal dinner-and-a-movie date, so when they'd pulled up at her apartment complex, she'd invited him up for coffee. Now they stand in the lift, side by side, shoulders bumping as it comes to a stop on her floor. Christina leads their way out of the elevator, guiding him down the hall to her condo.

Inside, the blonde toes out of her silver heels and leaves her clutch lying on the entryway console, directing Noah into her living room area. Idly discussing the movies they'd recently seen— Shutter Island, Alice in Wonderland, Deathly Hallows: Part One— Christina shuffles off into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and nearly exclaims when she finds the Winter Soldier seated at her breakfast bar once again.

"Something the matter?" calls her date from the other room. The woman shakes her head, despite knowing he can't see her. "No," Christina starts, eyeing the Asset seated across the room, his eyes are narrowed into a focused glare at the door, clearly directed at the stranger in the living room. She makes her way to the threshold and offers the man a disappointed shrug, "It seems I'm out of coffee. Gonna have to make a grocery note."

Noah chuckles, but it doesn't ease the tension in the woman's shoulders. With a smirk, he eyes the mini-bar in her dining room and tries for something a more suggestive, "Or we could go for something a little stronger than coffee." Following his line of sight to her collection of liquor, Christina shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't. I've got an early start tomorrow, but thanks for walking me up." And, recognizing a shut-down when he sees one, the man shrugs, "Maybe next time, then."

He's able to find his own way out, but the blonde still guides Noah to the door, almost eager to get rid of him. Not that he's unpleasant, in fact he's the favorite of all the dates she'd been on, but accidentaly seeing the Winter Soldier in her apartment could warrant his death. So, Christina shoos him out and then sighs in relief. Crisis averted.

When she turns around the Asset stands at the opposite end of the hall, silent and staring on curiously— although almost menacing. He clearly doesn't appreciate the presence of another man in her home— in her life. Christina crosses her arms, "What are you doing here?" demands the pretty blonde. It'd been months since last they'd been together and they hadn't exactly parted happily.

Now he's there, all encompassing and suffocating— yet he hasn't even touched her yet. She hates the way he fits there, like he belongs, filling in all the cracks and gaps that had grown between them in the last five months— and he hasn't even spoken yet.

"I remember this time." Winter simply offers and that's enough for all of Christina's walls to crumble down. Regret, and guilt, and insecurities be damned— he belongs there.

So, she let's the assassin take her to bed. She'd deal with whatever the emotional repercussions may be come morning, all she wants in the moment is to feel whole again. Ironically that's the same thing the Soldier covets, when he lifts her off of her feet and carries her off to her room. Christina makes him feels whole and he craves to feel that way again, even if just for the night.

Her back colliding with the mattress, she bounces against the comforter and looks up to find Winter shooting her this burning look. It's been months since he'd laid eyes on her and there she is, looking gorgeous in her crop-top dress, with it's tantalizing split down her thigh. He's in too much of a hurry to bother seeking out her zipper, so he pushes up the pale blue fabric and finds her panties, all sheer paneling and lace.

Hurrying to undo his fatigues, he pushes them and his boxers down to his knees. Christina whines, pulling him down to kiss her as he yanks the mint colored garment down her thighs. Cold metal digits dip between her folds, making her keen into his mouth. His fingers pump into her in tandem with his thumb petting her clit, making her gasp and bite down on her lip. "You like that," he says. It's not a question, he knows that she does, but still she nods eagerly.

" _Shit, shit_ ," Christina pants, eyes falling closed and body going lax. The Asset buries his nose in her hair, kisses along her throat. "Winter, _fuck, please_!" She begs, prompting the assassin to gather her legs over his forearms and yank her down the bed toward him. Guiding his hard length between her folds, Winter groans, pushing in to the hilt.

" _Oh god,_ " Christina gasps when he finds a steady rhythm. Winter smirks, pounding into her, "That's my girl," he groans, pounding against her sweet spot and making her keen helplessly. The Asset fucks her that way for a few minutes, until the blonde is writhing and gasping beneath him with every pump of his hips.

" _Shit_ ," groans the Soldier, nosing at the crook of her neck. "Wanna look at you, _krasavitsa_." He says and grips her waist with both hands, rolling her beneath him easily. Christina straddles his thighs, reaching back behind her to unzip her dress. Winter hastily pulls the pale blue material over her head, admires the mint colored bra that matches her little lace panties. His steel-blue orbs meet her cerulean as she guides his length back between her folds, the grip of his flesh hand tightening on her side and his mouth falling open as he rocks his hips. The cold metal of his cybernetic hand palms her breast making the blonde shudder, gasping out as she begins to meet him thrust for thrust.

Christina reaches back to tap the assassin's knees, prompting him to bend his knees. With the elevated angle, she's able to brace her palms on his muscular thighs and propel herself on his length. "A- _ah_ ," Winter moans, head falling back against the mattress, eyes trained on the pretty blonde as she fucks herself on his cock.

When Christina meets his gaze, she finds his steel eyes trained on her, empty of the cold that she's used to seeing in them. His flesh hand grips her waist and forces her to steady the rapid pace of her hips, metal prosthesis traveling up from her chest up to the side of her face." _T_ _y takaya krasivaya_ _,"_ He tells her and whatever he says feels personal, out of character even for their more intimate encounters. She recognizes the variation of the word beautiful, though not quite the entire sentence— _Learn Russian_ , she chides internally— but she understands the sentiment just from the blazing blue of his eyes.

Keeping eye contact, the Asset fucks her slow, the pace intimate. She moves closer to him, pressing her chest to his, meeting his thrusts. Christina lets out a wrecked moan, whining as he sucks hickies into her throat. " _Fucking hell_ ," whines the blonde, "Please, please. Winter, _I'm so damn close_." She cries and with that her lover turns them over again.

Whining, Christina clings to his shoulders as he stills his hips. Chest flush with his lover's, Winter buries his face in the valley of her breasts, painting the plush expanse of flesh with love bites. His mouth moves over her clavicle, up toward her throat, leaving more hickies as he goes. "Wanna hear that you're mine, _dorogay_ a." he growls into the crook of her neck, his thumb snaking down between them, making her tremble and whimper.

She whines in protest, but a sudden, rough snap of his hips makes her cry out, " _Fuck!"_ Winter smirks, grinding his hips. "Who's girl are you, darlin'?" That accent— defenitely New York— bleeds through again and practically melts her insides, the kinda drawl that makes her want to tell him anything he wants to hear. "Yours," Christina whimpers, as he yanks her down the mattress and throws her legs over his shoulders, in the position he favors most. Gasping when he begins to fuck between her thighs, the blondes eyes roll shut. _"_ Come for me, _krasavitsa_." Winter orders and she can't stop herself from following the command.

Christina comes with a cry, eyebrows pinching as her head falls back into the pillow, eyes closing and stars erupting behind her eyelids. She stills, clinging to him, despite his steady rhythm, each thrust pushing her through the pleasure. Winter's thrusts become erratic, hips slamming into hers, a rhapsody of groans, pants, and a string of Russian curses falling from his lips. His metal hand tangles in her hair and presses his forehead to hers, shuddering in delight as he finishes with a satisfied groan, filling her with spunk.

The blonde moans, arms winding around the Winter Soldier's shoulders, one hand tangling in his damp hair as he collapses on top of her bonelessly. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, mumbling in Russian, as he shifts off of her, keeping an arm curled around her waist. Christina pants, spent and exhausted, her hand wandering over the scars on his bionic shoulder.

The two of them lie motionless, only breathing for a moment, before his cold cybernetic hand traces down over her hip, across her abdomen. She feels the pressure of his lips against her throat, tracing with minute kisses up to her jawline, before the assassin speaks, "I apologize for last time. I should not have been so rough with you." And, out the window goes her last five months of inhibitions. Restraint be damned.

* * *

Russian Translations:  
*krasavitsa (красавица) — beautiful  
*Ty takaya krasivaya (Ты такая красивая) — You're so beautiful.  
*dorogaya (дорогая) — darling

Thoughts on the story so far? Things you like? Hate? Would like to see? Leave some feedback and let me know. Thanks to those of you who commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!


	13. So Turns the Tide

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the MCU's._

* * *

 _A/N: Back at it again! We're makin' progress here, y'all! This is chapter is set a little less than a month after the last, around early April 2010. Bet you're wondering how I'm gonna bring this up to speed with The Avengers and TWS, aren't ya?_

* * *

 _The lines begin getting blurred._

* * *

Sleep— actual deep REM cycle sleep— is a rarity for the Winter Soldier. Even rarer does he wake from slumber peacefully, often nightmares— or are they memories?— plague him so much that when he is given the opportunity to sleep, he never gets more than fifteen to twenty minutes at a time. So when he finds himself blinking awake— dim light filtering in through the window, a warm hand lazily pumping his half-hard cock— he's quite confused.

The assassin moans deliriously, eyes closing, head clunking back against the pillows, wondering if perhaps he's still dreaming. Soft lips peck kisses below his ear, across his jawline, down the length of his throat. "Morning," Christina greets, voice soft and tantalizing into the crook of his neck as she tugs his length to a peak. Winter peeks open his eyes, watching the blonde kiss her way down his body. " _Dobroye utro_ ," he greets with a groan, shuddering as her tongue glides along the underside of his cock. Metal fingers tangle in her long tresses, knitting with her blonde curls and guiding her head.

Chrisitina pulls off, leans her cheek against his hip and continues stroking him. He cuts off with a whine, wanting her mouth, hand fisting in her hair. "Come on, _krasavitsa_ ," groans the assassin, voice groggy from sleep. "Ya can't wake me up like this 'n then tease, doll." He drones in that New Yorker drawl again and it fills his lover with this bottomless pit inside her. The blonde wonders on all there is to know about him, wonders about where he'd gotten it from. Who he was before he became the Winter Soldier, if he was anyone. She decides to shake those curiosities off, knows where thoughts like those can lead.

Pumping his length, she presses a kiss to the length before swallowing him down. Christina groans, mouth full with his girth, palm fisting what can't fit, head and hand bobbing in tandem up and down his length. The Soldier moans uncharacteristically loud, bucking into her warm, yielding mouth. She hollows her mouth, tongue swirling from base to head and back, before Winter makes her hold her head still let's him fuck her throat. She runs her palms up his thighs, scratches along his abdomen.

Christina feels Winter shudder, his thighs quivering against her before he thrusts into her mouth. She gags a bit, steadies her jaw, and looks up at him through heavily lidded eyes. His baby-blues bore into her, eyelashes fluttering as he moans, looking wrecked. The blonde places a commanding pressure on his hip with her left hand, holding down his hips. She pulls off of his cock, making him whine. "Shh," Christina coos, stroking him with her right hand.

"Need you, darlin'." the assassin drawls, looking up at her between long eyelashes. Christina grins, tugs his length a little more deliberately, twisting her wrist as she pumps him from head to hilt and back. "That so?" She teases, cerulean boring into steel blue. Winter nods weakly as his lover shifts onto her knees beside him, "Yeah." He watches her yank her sheer panties down her thighs and discard them onto the carpet. He admires the matching camisole she'd gone to sleep in the night before, traces absentmindedly over the shoulder straps as his lover situates herself on top of him.

Winter raises his knees, feet pressed into the mattress as Christina straddles his thighs. Easing herself down on his cock, the woman exhales from the sweet sting that stretching around him creates. Her mouth falls open, head lolling back a bit, and palms flattening on his chest. " _Fuck_ ," the Asset grits out, gripping her waist. She rolls her hips, her lover's wrecked moan filling her ears. He thrusts up, burys himself deep in her, and yanks her down toward him. The blonde follows his pull, pressing flush with his chest. Keening loudly, she tangles her hands in his hair, finds his mouth with her own.

The Winter Soldier kisses her something fierce, tongue in her mouth and taste invading her every sense. His rocks into her uninhibited, finds her sweet spot with little effort, and makes her scream. A chuckle rumbles Winter's chest, as Christina buries her face in the curve of her lover's neck. She bites down on the side of his throat— careful not to leave any lasting marks— and he groans into her shoulder, slams into her with renew vigor.

Insistent hands pull her up and metal digits curling around her cheek, make her maintain eye contact with his blazing blue gaze. Both of them making satisfied sounds, neither able to tell which of them is louder. The euphoric sounds ringing through her empty apartment, not a care in the world— this is their own little world where only the two of them exist. Winter slams into her and overrides all of her sensors with mind numbing pleasure.

"You gonna come for me, _krasavitsa_?" questions the Asset, pounding against that spot inside that makes her _sing_. Christina nods, all weak with the blinding euphoria of it all. She lifts and falls on him a few times, meeting him thrust for thrust until they crash into orgasm. Winter arches beneath her, groaning as he pins her thighs wide. He chases after the delicious rapture of climax, continuing to fuck in and out her, setting off her own peak.

Legs trembling, Christina slams into her orgasm, overstimulated and spent on top of the Winter Soldier. The assassin's arms curled tight around her as they cling close to each other, in the delirious aftermath of climax. Christina collapses beside him on the mattress, feels him roll to follow her and curl around her body like a big human blanket. Both of them warm, but reluctant to withdraw from the other, Winter purrs into the curve of her neck, "Morning to you too, doll."

Christina's next case involves an ex-marine who's determined to ruin a politician's career. She, Lisa, Jordan, and Andrew work for two weeks attempting to resolve the case within legal parameters but eventually, after being bested by the ex-marine's lawyer girlfriend Christina decides to resort to other methods.

She's no friend of any Hydra agents, not even the ones who'd been her personal security, but Agent Rumlow is a steadfast soldier, who her father seems to trust. So, when she turns up at The Vault searching for someone other than The Winter Soldier, she feels terribly odd. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut, Christina finds the Agent in the training room/gym, surrounded by other agents and members of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team.

"Agent Rumlow, a word?" She calls from the door and can feel the curious gaze of the entire room. She watches Rumlow remove his boxing gloves, laughing with his colleagues before exiting the ring and following her into the hallway.

Brock Rumlow is a good looking agent with the typical jock air about him, he stands at five-foot-ten, with dark brunette hair that he wears short on the sides and long on top, spiked in a faux-hawk style more often than not. He's older than her, but isn't sure by how much. What she does know is that she's a strict and effecient agent who her father trusts enough to lead the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit and be a handler for the Winter Soldier. She supposes that would take him trustworthy enough to handle a simple scare tactic for her. He'd done well the last time.

"What can I do for you, Miss Pierce?" questions the agent, crossing his arms over his chest and towering over her as they come to stand a few feet away from the training room door. Christina lets out a heavy sigh, "I was, well, wondering if maybe I could proposition you to help me with a problem I've encountered in my most recent case." Rumlow nods, listening as she explains the circumstances of her current predicament.

"So I was thinking maybe you could lean on this ex-marine and make him back off, if possible." Christina watches the empty, unreadable expression on Rumlow's face and wonders if she'd only managed to waste her breath, but thankfully the agent begins to nod. "I'll do it," He says, though she can hear the _but_ before he ever says it. "If you buy me a beer _._ " Of course there would be a catch.

"I respect your father a great deal, but this is the second time I've agreed to do an extra curricular activity for you and I just think it might be a better idea for you to bring me onto your team before you tell me confidential information and ask me to possibly break the law." She can see the point he's trying to make, "Agreed."

A grin breaks out over his stubbled face, "Say you buy me a burger and a Miller over at _Public Bar_ on DuPont and we'll call ourselves even. For now." Now the _Public Bar_ she knows, off 18th and B, a casual place that serves bar food and your run of the mill drinks. Seems harmless enough, so she thinks she can accept that. "Sounds like a deal, Rumlow."

"After I handle it, then." says the agent with a smirk and disappears back to his sparring buddies. The next day she receives a single text around 3 PM, " _"Your ex-marine and his girl decided to take their bribe money to Bali. See you Saturday, 22:00." -Rumlow_ "

Christina can't shake the queasiness in her stomach, not through work, or dinner with her coworkers, or drinks with Deja and Paola, not even the bubble bath she's currently stewing in. She sighs, works conditioner through her blonde grumpily. It doesn't feel right working with Rumlow, even worse the idea of doing anything social with him makes her insides curdle.

She's so busy working over her dread that she doesn't here the footsteps in her dining room or the quiet knock on the bathroom door, it isn't until it gently swings open that she's roused from her reverie. Standing in the threshold is the Winter Soldier, mask removed and one eyebrow quizzically raised. Christina gives him a gleeful, welcoming grin.

"Wanna join?" Questions the blonde as he pads across the bathroom tile and comes to a stop beside the tub. The assassin leans forward, connect his mouth briefly with hers before pulling back and nodding. Bathing at The Vault is a lot more like being hosed down in a cold cubicle, luke-warm water and basic soap. It's nothing like her steamy bathroom, inviting bubbles, and warm water. Instead of supervisors with their backs turned to him, Christina pulls her knees up to her chest to make room for him at the opposite end of the bathtub.

The Asset removes his leather gloves and jacket, deposits them on the counter and then moves on to his fatigues. He can feel his lover's gaze on him as he works his pants and boxers down his legs, leaving him nude before her admiring eyes. "Damn, that ass." She comments and the Soldier resists the urge to chuckle, smirking instead as he steps into the tub and joins her in the soapy water.

Winter's legs brush against hers, the water sloshing higher in the porcelain basin, pooling around Christina's chest and bent knees. She grins across at him, wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders as she scoops up a bottle of shampoo and squirts it into her hand. The blonde waves him forward, working the shampoo into his dark tresses. The Asset leans into her fingers, relaxes as she helps him wash, rinse, and repeat.

"Something's wrong," Winter says quietly, observant of her quiet demeanor and her drawn eyebrows as she massages conditioner into his hair. Christina blinks, snapping out of it as she takes it her lover's curious expression. "No, nothing's the matter, Winter." the woman insists, but knows he can read her as easily as an open book, her transparency be damned. "It isn't you. It's work." she says quietly, tries to focus on washing his hair rather than his baby blue eyes. It's a lost cause.

"Do you ever feel like you've crossed a line you can never come back from?" she knows the answer before she even asks it, and the way his eyes lose focus a bit, glazing over as he drifts off into a place where she can't reach him. "Everyday." answers the Soldier plainly. Christina is sure she's never heard anything more true and the reality of that kills her. Both of them are terrible, but the things Winter has done are things he was made to do, at the very least he has that to comfort him. Her sins are all her own.

Pushing away those thoughts she picks up a loofa, lathers her lover's wet skin with body wash and works her thumbs into his strained muscles. Massaging his tired bones, Christina finds the Asset's steel blue eyes staring into her own cerulean. Without any notice Winter surges forward, water splashing on the floor at his sudden movement. Bent knee propped against the bottom of the tub and torso pressed flush with the blonde's, he pins open her thighs, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist.

Winter leans in to claim her mouth, her hand coming up to caress his cheek and arm wrapping around his shoulder as his tongue invades her mouth. Bubbling with glee, Christina can't stop giggling as he begins peaking her mouth playfully, continuing down her chin and neck. Away goes her anxiety, troubles dissipating like bubbles in their warm bath water. "Take me to bed?" the blonde offers and the assassin doesn't need to be asked twice.

10 PM Saturday evening rolls around much sooner than she expected it to and only a few short days pass before she finds herself padding timidly into the _Public Bar_. As per usual for the weekend the bar is packed full of people; college students and civil servants alike. Christina takes a look around at the girls in their dresses and short skirts— despite it being a casual pub— before glancing down at her black skinnies, draped cardigan, and grey tee shirt. She shrugs, it's not like it's a date; she's merely joining Rumlow for what is bound to be an awkward encounter over drinks— probably lots of drinks.

She finds him seated at a table in the far back corner, already milling over a bottle the bottle of beer in his hand. Rumlow waves when he spots her, waves her over to the table with a grin that she's sure she's never quite seen before. It isn't leering or overly friendly, but it does make that unsettling queasiness return in her gut.

Christina gets herself a bottle of Blue Moon and mozzarella sticks, while the agent orders a second Miller Lite and a Stadium Burger. He turns out not be nearly as bad as she'd imagined. She finds they have a lot in common— they're both are fans of the Redskins; the Knicks, and the Nationals, the Capitals. They both enjoy history and they both agree that Ben's Chili Bowl is overrated. By the end of the night the two of them have consumed a number more drinks— three more to be exact— and shared two orders of 1st Base Nachos. She arrives home well after midnight, in a taxi that Rumlow paid for.

Her living room is dark when she enters, but she's somehow able to sense the presence of the assassin in her apartment. Flicking on the light, Christina is unsurprised to find The Winter Soldier seated on her couch. The blonde smiles, discards her sneakers by the door and her bag on the entryway console, shrugging out of her cardigan before climbing into the Asset's lap. She smiles at the assassin, pulling the leather mask off from over his mouth, and then kissing him.

They seem to be on a lucky streak these past few months, though his visits are less frequent, he remembers her every time he's shown up. Sometimes in The Vault he'll remember much less, but he still manages to be less aggressive than the night he'd shown up in her kitchen with only half his memories of her. That night is another lucky night where he remembers most— if not all— of their time together.

Christina wraps her arms around him as he scoops her up. "You taste like alcohol," comments the assassin with a raised brow, "and you don't smell like yourself." The smell of beer, greasy food, cigarette smoke, and some vaguely familiar manly scent that he can't quite recall. "I had a drink with Agent Rumlow tonight." Winter pauses just outside her bedroom door, clearly thrown off by her casual confession.

"That so?" He questions voice sounding stiff as he saunters over to her bed and set her down beside it. Christina smirks, easily catching onto his uneasiness. "He wanted a beer in exchange for helping me out." She explains truthfully, but can tell that doesn't settle him any further. "Helping you how?"

Pushing Winter onto the bed, Christina smiles at him and climbs back into his lap. "Sometimes people get in the way of our firm resolving our cases and I ask Rumlow to intimidate those people into getting out of the way." She explains, pulling off her tee shirt to reveal her grey and black lace bralette. "All business." assures the blonde, working on removing his leather jacket and popping open his fatigues.

"Intimidation tactics are a basic mission that I could conduct in his stead." Winter says plainly, still not sold on his lover's new connection with his handler, which he finds terribly unsettling. Christina chuckles, taking off her skinnies and pushing down his fatigues before clamoring back into his lap. "Less talk, more cock, Winter." She teases, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her fingers in his hair. "That can be arranged." smirks the Soldier.

The blonde laughs, mouth melding with Winter's in a seering kiss, as he yanks off the pair of matching panties she's wearing. " _Ya tak khochu tebya_ ," he growls into her ear and though she doesn't comprehend what the Russian words mean, it manages to make her even hotter for him. Fisting his length in hand, he pumps it for good measure before easing between her slick folds.

" _Shit,"_ Christina keens, nose bumping against his and eyebrows knitting together. The stretch of accommodating him stings sweet, making her curl her nails into his flesh. She whines loudly, hands on the Asset's shoulder as Winter thrusts, completely burying himself inside of er. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpers into his ear when cold, metal digits dig into her hip.

The assassin's thick cock stretching her so much, the unholy sounds he's making, the desperate look on his face, makes her want his all the more wildy. She rocks on his lap, meeting his thrusts and relaxing in his bruising grip. Christina is malleable, pliant, all but puddy in his hands— and he's fucking her so well she's getting light headed.

Before she knows it she can feel the coil inside of her curling tighter and tighter, making her pant and whine. " _Holy hell,_ " hums the blonde, tugging on his dark locks. Overwhelmed by Winter's hot breath on her neck, the grip of his metal hand bruising her waist, the way he rolls his hips in time with hers; her vision becomes filled with nothing, a white light clouding over her senses and making her crash over the edge. The Winter Soldier has a way of always making her come undone, in more than just the bedroom.

* * *

Russian Translations:  
* _Dobroye utro_ (Доброе Утро) — Good morning  
* _krasavitsa_ (красавица) — beautiful  
* _Ya tak khochu tebya_ (Я так хочу тебя) — I want you so bad

 _This was kind of a filler chapter, but it also addressed a new found connection with Rumlow, and Christina making a conscious decision to involve Hydra with her work at the firm, even if only Rumlow. How do we feel about that? Any concerns about Rumlow? Or Winter? On goes the plot, closer and closer to The Avengers we go! What did you think of this chapter? Comments, concerns? Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!_


	14. Bloodsports

_I don't own Marvel._

* * *

 _"Politics is a bloodsport. From time to time, you have to get your hands dirty."_

* * *

May, June, and July fly by in no time at all. Christina's work at the firm goes smoothly, she only has to involve Rumlow in three of her nine cases, all off which he helps resolve quickly and efficiently. Needless to say, she spends a lot more time tossing back Blue Moons at the _Public Bar_ with Rumlow— she hasn't taken to calling him Brock though.

Christina gets on well at Valkyrie Consultants, does well amongst her colleagues, all of who are greatful for her ties with the World Security Council. Most of them assume that her connection gives her free reign over some kind of loyal federal agent or military specialist that is happy to lean on people to help out the WSC Secretary's daughter. None of them suspect that the agent is actually a covert commando for a Neo-Nazi terrorist organization, nor do they surmise that none of their conveniently cooperating opposers never actually arrive at their supposed destinations— not even Christina knows that part.

Meanwhile her relationship with the Winter Soldier goes equally as smooth. Though his visits are infrequent, he remembers her every time he turns up in her apartment. Unbeknownst to her the Asset only comes when he's sure he can remember all there is to recall about their time together, regardless of how many opportunities he meets.

That night Christina stays late at the office, several hours after her fellow colleagues, studying the paperwork of her most recent assignment. It's been a long day and an even longer night for the PR Specialist. Her most recent case is the most difficult of all she's taken on to date. An EEO Specialist with the Department of the Treasury hired the firm to get rid of a _'pesky'_ woman who was trying to report him for sexual assault. After some research into the allegations, she and Anika find them to be true.

Worst of all they're held to a standard of client-attorney privilege, and as their client wanted them to scare of his accuser, that's what they're intended to do— no matter where their moral compass may be pointed. Pouring over the files again and again, Christina finds herself looking at the information on the woman's rape kit over and over again. She can't bear the idea of helping their client get away with what he's done, but she doesn't have to dwell over it any further when she finds her chair suddenly being yanked back from her desk.

Jumping in surprise, the blonde turns to find the Winter Soldier staring back at her, mask removed, an almost playful smirk on his lips. Christina nearly flips her lid. Glancing around in panic, she grabs his shoulders, attempting to pull him out of sight of the hallway. Peeking through the vertical glass panel beside her office door, the woman checks the empty hall for any sign of company before turning back to the assassin with wide eyes, "What are you doing here?!" She half yells, half whispers, even though he'd closed the door behind him.

His grin grows smug, pleased he'd been able to surprise her, even if she'd go off on him. "Did you dodge the security cameras?!" hisses Christina, "What if my coworkers were still here?!" She smacks her open palm against his chest, but it doesn't make him any less determined to have her. "New tech inside the arm short circuits things like security cameras and metal detectors," the Asset replies plainly, lifting his cybernetic arm for her to see. _Convenient_ , she thinks before looking back up at her lover.

The Soldier's smirk is gone, replaced instead by the hungry look he often levels her with. His eyes rake over, taking in her wavy blonde locks, her tailored blazer and it's military-inspired accent buttons, her high-neck mini-dress, and strappy heels. A vision in black, she is, beautiful as always. Christina looks him over too, but as usual he's dressed in his usual digs. Leather and black fatigues. Still he's gorgeous as the first time she ever saw him— all handsome— rough stubble and blazing steel eyes. Them baby blues be damned, he's got her wrapped around those cold, metal fingers. And, she loves it that way.

" _Ya khotela tebya ves' den',_ "the assassin tells her in Russian, voice thick with lust, like she's used to. He backs her into her desk, knocking into the wood, as he gathers her face in his palms. Christina rises up on her toes, pecks his descending mouth with a gleeful grin. When their mouths meet, he parts her lips with a nip of his teeth. Tongue invading her mouth, the Asset curls his fingers in her long tresses and presses flush with her.

She feels his free hand wandering down her sides, fondling her breast as he goes, before he stops at the hem of her dress. Fingers skimming under the black material, he pushes it up her thighs, grazing along the lace keyhole thong. Winter takes a moment to admire the black garment, the polka dots, the rosework lace, the little bow. He shoves his hands into her panties and bites down on her plump bottom lip.

Christina keens out, clinging onto his shoulders and drawing the Soldier in close. He smells like gunpowder and motor oil, and that natural scent that's all _him_. Fingers buried in his dark curls, she tugs his hair, making him moan into her moan. Tongue sliding over his lover's, the Soldier disconnects from her lips, pulling back to give her a lascivious smirk.

Both of them seem to have the same thought as Christina turns around in his arms. With his cybernetic arm still wrapped around her waist, Winter pushing down her shoulder with his free arm, pressing her into the top of her desk. The blonde bends, unresisting, to his every will. Pushing aside her underwear, his metal fingers toy at her clit before moving to gather the slick between her folds.

Gasping out a moan, she shoves aside her paperwork and flattens against the desk, her cheek flush with the now bare tabletop, as she listens to the shuffling of the assassin working down his fatigues and boxers. He pumps himself a few times before smearing the head of his cock along her wet slit, guiding himself into the tight heat of her.

Christina moans, back arching, the weight of his body against pressed up against her all intoxicating, making her feel drunk on endorphins. He's so thick and lengthy, and he's filling her up so sweet, it's got her biting her lip and fucking back on his cock. Winter starts off slow, rolling his hips in long, deep strokes and finding a rhythm that quickly has her screaming.

His flesh hand clamps over her mouth, muffling her moans as he pounds into her, abusing that spot inside of her that makes her knees weak and her legs quiver. She hates herself for thinking, but his hand clamped over her mouth, his cock slamming into her sweet spot, the possibility they could get caught in this public place— exactly the kind of thrill their relationship was founded on— gets her off quicker than anything.

The Winter Soldier finishes first, pounding through his orgasm and filling her with spunk. His thrusts push her into her own peak, leaving her crying out his name and clawing at her desk. When she catches her breath she turns around and lets him lift her up to sit atop the mahogany furniture. Christina glances around at her scattered paperwork, eyelids heavy from both the earth shattering climax and the long day at work. Winter seems to notice that.

Without any prompting the assassin presses a kiss to her forehead, adjusts her panties, and pulls her dress back down where it belongs, before he kneels to gather the mess of files around her desk. "You're going to be the death of me," she jokes easily and watches the Asset crack a smirk, taking the stack of papers from his metal hand.

Pulling her lover in for another scalding kiss, she forces away thoughts of her cases or her newfound relationship with Agent Rumlow, lines she's crossed. Come morning he will be gone and with him will go the distractions from her little of horrors, come morning she will sit down and resolve to settle things, come morning she'll cross to a place she can never come back from. But for now, she's glad for the happy distraction. But, all good things must come to an end and like everytime, Winter leaves with the sunrise.

Christina's barely straightened out her desk and tidied up the throw pillows on her couch when Lisa comes knocking on her office door. "Pulled an all-nighter?" questions her supervisor, worried expression on her face as she observes the blonde's second-day clothes.

Pausing in her place, she nods a little more enthusiastically than she'd intended— _what's a better excuse than not going home in favor of office sex with your assassin lover?_ "The Bower case has just really been wearing on me." Christina only half-lies, the idea of helping the EEO Specialist get away with sexual assault makes her skin crawl.

Lisa seems to share her sentiment. The older woman nods, pads into the office and stops along side her desk to read over the open file. "I hate that it was him that came to us instead of her," admits the Southern Belle, "But, that's the thing about work; once we sign the contracts there's no going back, and Mr. Bower is our client. Remember, professionalism is key." Working at Valkyrie teaches Christina to turn the other cheek, but Hydra teaches her about order.

"I have another job for you," says the crisis manager to Brock Rumlow over their routine beer-and-burgers night. The agent eyes her with a quirked eyebrow as she downs her second Blue Moon in record time, noticing the determination in her voice.

"Another sleaze bag?" He questions, shooting back more Miller. By now he's learned that Christina is often reluctant in asking him to step in because of her conscience, but being a sleeper agent for a Neo-Nazi terrorist organization hiding within counter-terrorism agency, Rumlow doesn't have much of a conscience to boot.

The blonde nods, digging into her hamburger with a determined pout, and begins explaining the Bower case to Brock. He watches her talk animatedly, clearly distressed on the opposer— Miss Swanson's— behalf. As she explodes in anger about the audacity of their client when faced with the evidence of the firm's investigation, Rumlow raises a questioning brow. He feels little about the situation, but watching Christina's genuine fury intrigues him.

"So you want me make him disappear too?" he questions, easily tossing back more beer. And, with a determined look plastered on her face, Rumlow watches her cross that bridge of no return. "He tried to destroy that poor girl, after everything he did to her. Ruin him."

A two days later Olivia Swanson is on a far off beach counting all her accepted bribe money and four days after that the EEO Specialist, Jim Bower, is indicted on multiple sexual assault charges following an article published by a third party journalist— all orchestrated by Rumlow. Just like that, Bower's big time government job for the Department of the Treasury crumbles out from under him as numerous girls, just like Miss Swanson, come out of the woodwork with accusations of their own after reading the article. But, the final nail in his coffin?— the court case spearheaded by his PA of four years, who'd also been assaulted by him.

Some of Christina's co-workers come off a bit suspicious in light of Mr. Bower's court case, especially Lisa Clarke. Knowing how torn up the young crisis manager had been having to represent the man. No one mentions the odd coincidence aloud, but Christina can feel the curious looks, occasionally overhears the break room chatter, but remains guiltless to it all.

Rumlow arranged it perfectly, all she'd have to do was procure Olivia Swanson's side of the story for the article, get her to accept Bower's bribe money and disappear. With the promise she'd be able to watch him burn at the stake via media coverage of the scandalous trial, Swanson had happily agreed. From there everything else fell into place on it's own, Rumlow took the story to a trusted journalist and convinced the PA to testify against Bower, by the time the story made the paper Swanson was already sipping wine on a resort in Santorini.

"Wasn't Bower one of your clients?" Alexander Pierce questions one evening after dinner, eyeing his daughter from his place on the armchair. They're seated in the lounge, watching the evening news. Christina pauses mid-sip of her glass of rosé, stiffening as she takes in her father's quirked eyebrow. Of course he would know or perhaps Rumlow had told him. He is, after all, the agent's superior. "Yes," the young woman croaks out, frowning as she sips down more wine.

"You know, politics is a bloodsport. From time to time, you have to get your hands dirty, Christina." says her father, his tone amused. He sounds almost proud. It only makes Christina feel worse. She doesn't feel bad for making a man like Bower pay for his evils, but pulling the curtains on people's lives like puppets? That makes her feel terrible, makes her compare herself to the man sitting diagonal from her, makes her think of the life sized puppet that often frequents her bed. She doesn't want to become the puppeteer like her father.

The pair aren't able to dwell upon it any further, as the balcony door slides open and a dark, masked figure enters the kitchen. The Winter Soldier stands at attention, placing his SIG-Sauer P226 on the counter as a sign of submission. Excusing himself, Alexander Pierce directs the assassin to his office, and disappears down the hall expecting the Asset to follow. Before going, he casts Christina a burning look and turns to follow her father.

Half an hour later Alexander Pierce and the Soldier exit his office. Winter departs with only a discreet nod to his lover as her father makes his way back to the living room. They finish watching Dateline and Christina decides it's time to retire for the evening, she kisses her father farewell, only to be confronted before she's even able to reach her car.

Back bouncing against the side of the garage, she stands face-to-face with the Winter Soldier. Glancing around to be sure they're alone, she lets the Winter Soldier press her into the wall, a gleeful grin spreading over her face. "Hi," comes her windchime voice, all giddy with the thrill of seeing him again— or being caught with him. He leans forward, nose brushing hers almost affectionately. " _Privet,_ " he greets, kisses her smiling mouth.

Mouth moving against hers, the assassin tilts his head to better kiss her. He leaves her breathless, cheeks flush, when he pulls back, a smirk plastered on his lips. "Did you miss me?" questions the blonde, as her lover begins kissing down her neck. Pinned up against the side of the garage, she squirms when he begins groping her, hands palming over her ass, fingers toying at the hem of her little black shorts.

"Yes," Winter admits, hurrying to unzip her leather jacket, unbuttoning her shorts, and pushing up her white top. He's greeted by the sight of her satin lingerie, which he only briefly admires before shoving down her shorts and matching panties simultaneously. Christina's own hands rush to open his pants, not even bothering with his tactical gear. "Need you," she pants, pushing his fatigues down his thighs. He doesn't even try to resist.

The Soldier's metal hand slips between her thighs, dipping between her folds, his thumb assaulting her clit. She clings to Winter's shoulders, arms wrapping around his neck when he scoops her up and crowds her back against the wall, legs wrapping around the assassin's waist. He swipes his cock along her cunt before pressing inside, leaning down to swallow her moan. The assassin holds her in place as he fucks her up against the side of the garage, muffling her moans with his mouth.

Winter pulls back, nose bumping hers with every thrust. He stares into her cerulean eyes as he fucks her, the eye contact wildly intimate, as he plows her into the wall. " _Shit,_ " he murmurs, he can barely think beyond the pleasure coursing through him, curling along his spine, making him needy with want. He drives his hips harder, the rhythm hard and punishing. His hands dig into her flesh, fingers bruising as he anchors her for his taking. He wants her like mad, has her pinned between his solid body and the wall, yet still he longs for more of her. And, his lover eagerly takes it all.

A month later Winter has returned to Europe and meanwhile Christina has returned to work as though she didn't rip apart a man's life just a few weeks prior. Her next case is another high profile political hot button type; a Russian-American law student and his family hire the firm to collect evidence against one Albert Levin, Ambassador to Russia. The law student, Daniil Verenich, presents them with evidence that the Ambassador and his staff have ties to the _Bratva_ and create false papers for Russian stowaways that the mafia smuggle into the country.

As Christina and the team do with every case, they do their homework, and in doing so they find that Verenich and his family seem to be on to something. They find that money going into Levin's accounts correspond with shipments to Staten Island. Every week before the arrival of Russian shipments to New York Container Terminal Levin in numerous deposits of seven thousand dollars— one deposit per stowaway. The team goes on to discover that stowaways pay $14,000 for safe passage to the US— half of which goes to the _Bratva_ for transport and the other half to Levin and his associates, to create new, false identities for them as US citizens.

The problem with this system? Most stowaways can often only pay half of the _Bratva's_ share, resulting in debt that they're are intended to pay back with interest, sometimes through nefarious methods. Or worse they become the target of blackmail via by Levin's assosciates, more money in exchange for being able to continue living comfortably in their new lives. Which is where the Verenich family comes in.

Daniil and his family came from Tver, Russia nine years prior, so that he and his siblings could attend high school in the United States. His parents— an airforce pilot turned factory worker and an elementary school teacher— along with his widow-aunt, paid Levin's people in full. $56,00 for a total of eight stowaways— Daniil, his parents, his two younger siblings, his mother's sister, and her two children. But they were only able to pay the _Bratva_ $35,000 of the $56,000 that they owed. His parents and his aunt worked themselves ragged trying to pay the mafia off, but his older cousin ended up joining the _Bratva's_ ranks. Daniil did well in school and went on to law school, hoping to become an attorney and pay off the final $10,000 dollars that they owed. That year Levin's people reached out to them, having heard of Daniil's internship at a high profile Law Firm in NYC, and planning to exort the Verenich family for more money. That's when Daniil had elected instead to consult with the firm.

Christina—of course— cannot be satisfied knowing that only Levin's staff knew of the human trafficking, she wants to catch the Ambassador himself in on the scheme. Which is how she ends up in a car along side her colleagues, Thomas Hansen and Andrew Russell, on a stakeout. The blonde peers through a pair of binoculars, gaze trained on the Ambassador's private office. They'd been there for two hours now, watching Levin working after hours since eight PM. The time is already 10:15 in the morning and aside from taking phone calls and signing off on paperwork, the Ambassador has done nothing worthy of suspicion.

Sitting in the backseat of Hansen luxury car, Christina crosses her arms, sighing in disappointment. Her co-workers sit in the front seat discussing their excitement for the upcoming FIBA World Championship as Hansen tails Levin's car from an acceptable distance. The trip from The Russian Consulate to the Ambassador's Residence is only a thirteen minute drive via Massachusetts Avenue, but instead of continuing on to DuPont Circle, his driver turns left and exits onto S street.

"Isn't the Ambassador's Residence on 16th?" questions Russell, sounding as suspicious as Christina feels. Hansen nods, turning off onto the same street and following the Ambassador's car passed Mitchell Park, passed the Embassys of Croatia, Myanmar, Laos and Cost Rica. They turn onto Phelps and then left onto Florida Avenue following the Ambassador's car to where Florida Ave and Connecticut Ave meet.

"The Moldova Embassy?" Hansen voices aloud, watching Levin exit his towncar and enter the ornate townhouse on the corner. "No," insists the blonde, pointing to the building, "That's a restaurant." She points out, urging her colleague to pull into a parking space. The Russia House Lounge is a 4-storey townhouse— each storey with a different vibe— that her father frequents quite often since he'd become the Secretary for the World Security Council, so often he's on the reservation list. Christina herself had accompannied him there on a few occasions.

Leading her two co-workers into the lounge, she greets the maître d', offering her father's name, and like a gold card, it grants her automatic VIP treatment. They're seated in the restaurant's utmost private dining room and just across the room they spot Ambassador Levin. The middle aged man sits alone at a table for two, in front of a plate of stroganoff, sipping a glass of merlot.

The trio orders their own meals— stuffed chicken breast, Yukon mashed potatoes, and sautéed vegetables for Hansen, veal Pelmeni and wild mushrooms for Russell, and potato Vereniki for Christina— and watch the Ambassador. The blonde drinks down her glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, watching Levin discreetly. The longer they stay, the more their stakeout seems to be a lost cause, until Russell nearly chokes on his Pinot Grigio.

Coughing into his napkin, he nods subtley in the direction of the entrace. Walking with the is maître d' is Maxim Ivchenko, right hand man to New York's current _Pakhan_. The three fixers watch on as inconspicuously as possible as the host seats him with Ambassador Levin. From the distance they're seated, they can hear nothing of the pair's conversation, but if this isn't evidence, Christina doesn't know what would be. And, she's determined to get the proof she needs to bring this all to light.

Standing from her seat, she shakes off Russell's pleading hand and makes a beeline for the powder room. Levin and Ivchenko's table is beside the hallway leading to the restrooms and the woman intends to make use of that. Passing the table, the mobster only gives her a passing glance as she walks by, pretending to be on her cellphone.

Stopping in the hall, out of sight, but still within earshot, Christina glances around and then crouches beside the wall. Quietly emptying the loose contents of her clutch onto the floor, she makes an alibi for herself should she be discovered and settles in to listen to them. The conversation is half in Russian, and despite her studying— thanks to Winter and his mumbling— she isn't able to understand enough. Opening the voice recorder app on her cellphone, she decides she can figure it out later. Maybe she'd ask Winter, or Rumlow. She'd heard him speaking Russian once.

Distracted, she isn't aware of the _Bratva_ member coming up on her opposite side— the direction of the bathroom. Christina doesn't even hear him approaching until he's crouching in front of her and gathering up one of the spilled items from her bag. "Had a little accident, did you?"

The man's voice makes her jump, startling her into action. She grins up at him shyly, scooping her lipstick and compact and dumping her cellphone back into her clutch along with them, successfully avoiding being caught. The mobster leers at her, in her zippered halter top and high waist, sculpted shorts. She curses herself for leaving her blazer at the table. Even if she hadn't just heard his accent, he would have been able to tell he was _Bratva_. Because ill-fitted suit, ponytail, and tattoos screams mafia. She scolds the part of her that sees his blue eyes and long dark hair and thinks of the Winter Soldier. _Focus woman_. "Yeah," she chuckles awkwardly, "I'm terribly clumsy."

Christina returns her slipped items back into her clutch and excuses herself to the restroom. Disappearing through the powder room door, the blonde breathes a sigh of relief, emailing the audio to herself before deleting it. She walks into one of the stalls, flushes the toilet with her foot, and then quickly washes her hands. Making a beeline straight back to the table, she tries not to to act amiss, especially passing Levin's table.

She focuses her eye contact on her cellphone, smiling at Russell and Hansen when she reaches her seat. The blonde finishes her Cabernet Sauvignon and the last of her Vereniki, insists upon each of her colleagues finishing theirs as well before leaving, even after the Ambassador has left.

Ivchenko and his men stay on a little longer. The mobster finishes his Kulebiaka, while his two escorts flank either side of the room. The one from outside the bathroom keeps eyeing her. She can feel it, even with all the effort she's making to avoid it. And, when Ivchenko gets up to leave, he slows down, looks right at her as he puts on his jacket with a menacing smirk, and then tips his head at her as he goes.

Christina can feel Russell and Hansen looking at her, but she feels frozen. When the mobster is no longer in her sight, she lets out a deep breathe she wasn't even aware she'd been holding. _Damn_ , she thinks. She was so sure she'd been discreet enough. Now the mafia has targets on their heads. "Fuck," Christina whines, facepalming. _She's so dead._

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
 _*Ya khotela tebya ves' den' (Я так хочу тебя ) — I want you so bad_  
 _*Privet (привет) — Hi_  
 _*Bratva — as in the Solntsevskaya Bratva (Солнцевская братва), the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood or the Russian Mafia_  
 _*Pakhan — the Boss or Krestniy Otets, who controls everything._

 _On and on goes the plot, therefore closer to The Avengers we get! Christina's crossed over to the dark side. How's everybody feeling about that? Or about her budding friendship with Rumlow, her relationship with Winter, her most recent tangle with the mafia? Leave me a comment and let me know! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!_


	15. I Walk the Line

_I don't own Marvel._

* * *

 _This chapter is set in August of 2010. We're going to be moving into 2011 in the next couple chapters, meaning we'll be meeting up with The Avengers plot soon! Who's excited?_

* * *

 _I find it very, very easy to be true_  
 _I find myself alone when each day is through_  
 _Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you_  
 _Because you're mine, I walk the line_

 _As sure as night is dark and day is light_  
 _I keep you on my mind both day and night_  
 _And happiness I've known proves that it's right_  
 _Because you're mine, I walk the line_

 _You've got a way to keep me on your side_  
 _You give me cause for love that I can't hide_  
 _For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide_  
 _Because you're mine, I walk the line_

* * *

Sticking her nose in the _Bratva's_ business is admittedly a mistake, Christina won't deny it. That night she stays up fretting, fear and worry coiling in her belly and making a home. She should tell Rumlow, or her father— or Winter, if he was there. Surely Hydra had the fire power to protect her from the mafia?

"You what?" Rumlow grumbles over the phone, early the next morning. Christina only managed to sleep for three hours from fear of waking up with a gun in her face— or not waking up at all. "I think I got marked by the Russian mafia last night." She repeats and begins to explain the previous evening to him. When she finshes, she hears the S.T.R.I.K.E. commando breathe a sigh, "I'll handle it, but be on guard. I'll have your chauffeur escort you today."

That eases her mind enough and she thanks him, agreeing to forward Rumlow the audio email to see if he can translate it for her. Christina goes off to work as she normally would, spends her day tucked away in the office, though she finds herself looking over her shoulder much more than she normally would.

She has lunch with her colleagues, Ava and Jordan, across the street from their office. And, though no one approaches her or sticks out like a sore thumb, she swears she feels eyes on her. Christina knows she's being watched. Every suspicious car, every extended glance, she worries may be the _Bratva_.

Her day goes on as it normally would have, but Thomas Hansen doesn't return to the office after lunch. None of their co-workers knew where he'd went and his cellphone is turned off. That can't be a coincidence, Christina is convinced. What are the chances that he'd go radio silent only a day after snooping after the Russian mob?

By the end of the work day, she's exhausted and on edge when Andrew Russell knocks on her office door and peeks in his head. Her fellow colleague expresses his worry over their missing co-worker. Seven hours had passed and still no word from Hansen. They'd even called his home, but no one had answered. The pair grew more and more anxious as time passed. Surely he was alright, wasn't he? Or had the mafia really aimed targets at their heads?

They can't be sure, but it sets them off even worse. Climbing into her car, Christina orders her chauffeur to take her to The Vault, texting Rumlow as she clicks on her seat belt. " _Prosti, devushka_. But, you're coming with me." She glances up, her eyes falling on a tattooed, spiky haired man in an ill-fitted suit jacket. A _Bratva_ member stares back at her from the front seat, a grin plastered on his face. _Oh, fuck_.

They pass the turn that would take them to the Hydra base and continue on toward the factory district. Why do her kidnappers always insist upon taking her to abandoned warehouses? "Where are you taking me?" Christina voices. The driver merely chuckles, continuing on, "That, _printsessa_ , you'll see soon enough." And, calling her princess— why do her kidnappers always call her princess?

"Am I the only one you've taken? Are the _Bratva_ responsible for my co-worker going missing?" She continues bravely. The man nods, "Mr. Hansen had himself a little _accident_ this afternoon." Christina cringes mournfully. Was he dead? "And, Russell?" The mobster glances at her in the rearview mirror, "I imagine he had a toasty drive home by now." _God,_ what had she caused? Were two of her colleagues dead because she was nosey? _Oh, god_.

Without much thought she sends one final text message to Rumlow, simply " _'Help'._ ", before tucking it away into her pocket. Her fight-or-flight instincts kick in and she recalls a self defense class she'd taken in college. She commends herself for wearing slim-fit slacks and a blazer today. Discreetly removing her strappy heels and buttoning closed her pale grey blazer, she waits for the opportune moment to make her escape.

Christina throws open the door and with it all her fears, as the driver rounds a corner, tucking and rolling from the moving vehicle. The car is only moving around 30 miles an hour as she crashes into the pavement, landing on her back and rolling toward the curb. The pain shoots down her side and through her shoulder, but she scrambles to her feet, running solely on adrenaline. She can hear the car skidding to a stop further down the street.

The blonde makes a beeline down the block cutting through a back alley and down a side street, despite her rolled ankle. She nearly makes it over the next block, but a car cuts her off in the middle of the street, the chauffeur car. The _Bratva_ member climbs out, looking furious as he rounds on her with a precise fist, clocking her upside the temple, and dragging her by the hair back to the car.

Christina regains consciousness when the car pulls to a pause outside of a gated warehouse and a guard opens the security gate. They stop in front of a factory that is clearly owned by the _Bratva_ if the Russian signs say anything. She's lead in— still barefoot, carrying her heels in hand— by the driver. Though he brandishes no weapon, she knows he's armed. Inside, a group of six men sit around a table, talking animatedly in Russian and cleaning their guns.

Maxim Ivchenko sits at the head of the table, along with the two guards who'd accompanied him last night. The three others are dressed in military fatigues, carrying automatic weapons, much like the agents and commandos she sees at The Vault. Ivchenko stands at the sight of her, nodding to the man who'd kidnapped her and directing her to the chair beside the one he'd been sitting in. Warily, Christina takes her seat as directed next to the smiling mobster. "Miss Pierce," greets the man. "Ivchenko," she replies, feigning bravery, if only to save face.

The mobster levels her with a stern, but curious stare. Christina feels her skin claw, little bugs creeping under her flesh. Ivchenko angles his form toward her, watches her squirm under his gaze. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Pierce?" He questions, Russian accent thick as he addresses her.

Of course she knows, he knows she knows. Christina knew of course, that sticking her nose in the mob's business would be a sticky situation, but she hadn't quite anticipated being kidnapped... _again_. Whether it's naivety or arrogance, she can't be sure, but she hadn't forseen this resulting in abduction— the blonde decides she should stop being suprised by it at this point.

Sitting beside numerous cold-blooded killers, Christina feels cold. Empty. After all, she routinely takes one to bed. She nods, bravely looking Ivchenko in the eye, "I got curious." He seems amused by her gaul, mouth quirking up in one corner. She should be scared, she knows, but the urge to press her luck is whispering in her ear. Hydra would be coming. She'd alerted Rumlow, he and his team are probably on his way as they speak.

The _Bratva_ member grins, "You have fire, _printsessa_." He sounds almost incredulous, eyebrows drawn in amusement. "That's probably thanks to your father. Alexander Pierce is a force to be reckoned with." Ivchenko's grin turns malicious, "But I wonder, how much would you know about that?"

Christina knows that look, looks she'd grown up getting, looks like the ones that Croatian mercenary had given her before Winter shot him in the face— that look that every woman knows. That fire he'd spoken of flares in her again, burning and raging hot. Her mouth shoots off before she even has a chance to stop it. "Enough. And, if you know as much as me, I don't think you're going to try anything."

The gangster's hand shoots out, grabs her chin and turns her face to him. "You're a willy one," laughs Ivchenko. "And, Pierce doesn't seem to have taught you manners. It's true that Christina is spitfire, hotheaded, and irascible, but she's not very good at putting her money where her mouth is— luckily for her the S.T.R.I.K.E. Commandos arrive in time to do it for her.

With the alarm blaring in the background, Christina watches each of the armed men scramble into position. Ivchenko, the driver, his two guards, and the three men in tactical gear stand guns at the ready as the S.T.R.I.K.E. team enter the room in a V-shaped formation. Two commandos flank either side, Rumlow anchoring the back at the center of the formation. The tactile team stands seven to five, not terribly glittering odds, if it weren't for Rumlow barking orders at the back.

Christina can hear Brock hollering in Russian, but everything is moving like a blur and the barrel of Ivchenko's gun is digging into her back as the mobster puts the blonde between himself and the line of fire. " _Ostat'sya nazad!_ " He yells, but S.T.R.I.K.E. falls into position and trains their weaponry on the _Bratva_ members. Rumlow's exchange in Russian changes the air of the exchange, causing the men in tac gear to lower their weapons.

Brock addresses the gangster, "Alright. That's enough, Ivchenko. Your team has their orders. Miss Pierce wasn't meant to interfere with the arrangement, but we'll get her debriefed and she'll no longer be a problem."

Ivchenko doesn't seem to be swayed by Rumlow, pressing the gun tighter against the small of Christina's back. "Arrangement or not, she crossed the _Bratva_. You know we won't simply allow that." Spits the mobster. The woman shudders, cursing her curious nature. She should learn to mind her own business. But, how was she to know the _Bratva_ was mixed up with Hydra? Rumlow "That's all understandable, but any further retaliation will result in the Secretary renauging on his arrangement with your boss. So, turn Miss Pierce over and we'll call it even."

Shaking his head, Ivchenko begins to rattle off angrily in Russian at the lead commando, who fires back just as furiously. Ivchenko pulls the handgun from her back, pointing it instead at the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. The three tactile team members that had been on the _Bratva's_ side at the start now have their weaponry trained on Ivchenko and his men— they were Hydra Agents working with them she realizes. Rumlow has his rifle trained on the man who'd been holding her at gunpoint, arguing with him.

Christina can hear the clanking of metal— almost like footsteps— echoing over the sound of their bickering, she feels a gush of wind and then the thud of someone landing heavily behind him. Ivchenko and his men whip around to face the figure that'd dropped down behind them from the rafters. The Winter Soldier stands at the barrel end of their guns, looking menacing and ready to end them all. The blonde feels relief flood through her at just the sight of him, everything would be favorably resolved now that the Asset was there.

Ivchenko goes silent, gun hand trembling as he points his gun at Winter's face. The assassin doesn't even flinch, his eyes flicking over to where Christina stands behind the _Bratva_ members. " _Dostatochno_ ," growls the Soldier, his palm snapping up to cover the barrel of the mobster's gun. Startled by the sudden movement, Ivchenko fires, but the bullets merely ricochet off the metal.

Christina tucks herself behind Ivchenko, ducking any bullets that may be headed her direction after bouncing off Winter's prosthesis. The Asset crushes the gun in his hand and levels the _Bratva_ members with a glare. If looks could kill the three men would have burst into flame and incinerated from the sheer fuel of Winter's fury. The two bodyguards lower their weapons and Ivchenko raises his hands in surrender. As expected, the assasin is enough to scare them into submission.

In the crosshairs Christina unconsciously finds herself standing beside the Winter Soldier. No one is paying attention to them anymore, with Rumlow working out negotiations and arrangement related details, and the other S.T.R.I.K.E. members are leading the _Bratva_ members aside. She feels Winter's arm wind around her, flesh hand settling on the small of her back. Suddenly Rumlow is barking orders at him and the Soldier is guiding her down the small corridor the same way the driver had lead her into the building through.

Leaving Rumlow and S.T.R.I.K.E. behind, the assassin leads Christina out of the warehouse to a black SUV parked beside what is clearly S.T.R.I.K.E.'s van. Winter observes her limp, the heels clutched in her hand, the redness of her rolled ankle. He pauses, making sure they're out of sight, before gathering her up in his arms. Startling as she's plucked off her feet, her arms automatically wrap around him, clinging to his shoulders as he ushers her off to the car.

Gingerly placing her in the passenger seat, metal fingers brush along her own, taking her shoes along with him. Winter crouches, securing on her strappy heels before helping her turn in her seat and buckling her in. For a moment Winter pulls back and merely stares at her, his cybernetic hand reaching out to cup her cheek. But, in the end he says nothing before closing the door and waltzing across to the driver's side door. The Asset climbs in, slamming the door closed behind him and peels out of the parking lot in he direction of the extraction point.

It isn't long before Christina recognizes the familiar warehouse, disguised as a storage facility. It's the same one they'd been to the last two times she'd been kidnapped. The Soldier hops out of the vehicle, punching in the security code before getting back in and pulling the car through the door as it pulls up overhead. Putting the car in park, Winter returns to her side and scoops her up, carrying her through the dark warehouse.

They enter the same mostly empty office room, with the tube TV mounted on the wall, the desk in the corner, the coffee table and the old couch. The Winter Soldier places her on it. Kneeling in front of her, her lover checks her over, gentle but determined hands working over her skin. Her ankle is sprained and her lower back, hip, knees, and elbow are bruised. Still, it could have been much worse. But, even knowing that is no comfort to the Asset.

Anger surges through him, fury coursing through his veins. How dare anyone lay a hand on what's _his_? He'd kill them all. Christina winces when he takes her hand, he mentally adds sprained wrist to his list. He's going to slaughter everyone of them, slowly and painfully. "Winter?" Comes the tinker of her bell voice, soft and light, the chime ring through the space between them and pulling the assassin back from the dark place his mind was heading.

"You're alright?" He questions, despite his smouldering fury. Christina nods, turning her wrist in his hold and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. She pulls him onto the couch beside her and curls into his side. "I will be." Her voice wavers, despite her soft expression. The Soldier's eyebrows furrow and he leans in to cover her lips in a light kiss.

Comforting is a foreign concept to the Winter Soldier, but he knows that his lover revels in it, so he tucks her against his chest and curls his arms around her. There are no threats here— aside from the threat of being caught— no one would hurt her as long as he's at her side. So the assassin takes solace in that a vows to kill the next person who dare lay a hand on her. Christina Pierce is the one comfort that he was in his cold, solitary life. He'll be damned if anyone were to take her from him.

"You're sure you're okay?" Rumlow questions an hour later as he watches a doctor give the young woman a thorough look-over back at The Vault. Winter stands at attention near the door, watching with channelled disdain as his handler talks with Christina. Something about how familiar Rumlow is acting makes him prickle with contempt.

"Sprains and bruises aside, I'll be fine." the blonde assures him, shooting a quick glance at Winter over Rumlow's shoulder. After a moment Alexander Pierce enters the med bay with his guards in tow. "How is she, doctor?" Questions her father. Christina can see the rage burning dormant under his composed expression, reflection in his eyes.

Rollins and the team are ordered to escort the Asset to the Cradle and have him preped for cryo while Rumlow, the doctor, and Pierce speak in hushed tones. Christina watches from her seat upon the examination table— hoping she doesn't look as crest fallen as she feels— when Winter is led out by gun-toting agents.

"A word, dear?" Pierce calls, drawing her attention away from the retreating assassin's back. Chritina blinks back to attention, taking in her father's stern face but missing Rumlow's curious glance between her and the receding Winter Soldier. "Any connection between Hydra and the _Bratva_ that you may have discovered will not be discussed any further after this moment is that understood?" Alexander Pierce orders and she nods with ease, she likes to think she's learned her lesson.

"Good. Now it's come to my attention that you security has continually been compromised. For the next fourty-eight hours the security detail will be watching over you, but afterwards we may have to consider getting you a bodyguard of your own." Christina isn't able to stop the look that crosses her face. Her father waves off her distaste, "Rumlow suggested that perhaps you learn some defensive measures and I fully agree." Concludes Pierce, before turning the reigns over to Brock.

"Tonight I'm going to fill in for Lynch and cover your security with Wagner. She'll be hunkering down in your living room while I run the perimeter. Pavlov and Braun will be your daytime security detail until we call this off. And, afterwards Sofia and I are gonna give you some offensive training. Maybe these guys won't be able to nab you anymore if you're able to defend yourself." Rumlow rambles on and on as he guides her into the lift beside Agent Sofia Wagner. As the elevator doors close Christina hears the familiar wearing of The Chair in the distance, followed shortly by the sound of screams.

A week later Christina finds herself with her back pressed into the wall of a dark conference room in the lower levels of The Vault, her legs wrapped around the Winter Soldier's hips. The assassin kisses his way down her neck and collarbone, gropping the handful of ass in each of his palms. His lover moans into his mouth, tangling her hands in his long hair, tugging it between her long, piano fingers.

His hot, hungry mouth leaves angry, red love bits along the length of her throat, lips sealing over her jugular and sucking roughly. Using his metal arm to steady her, his free hand fumbles north, pushing her dress up beneath his hand and over the cup of her lace bra, bunching it over the curve of her chest. His thumb dips beneath the thin lace panels, pushing the material down to expose her breasts. His hand roughs over her nipples, tweaking and pinching them between the callosed pad of his thumb and index finger. The blonde whines, her nipple puckering into a tight bud beneath his fingers.

Christina moans, arches into him and whines as he sucks love bites into the side of her throat. Marking her is a favorite of the Soldier's, his raw possessive nature revels in leaving traces of himself behind. Hydra could wipe his mind a thousand times, but they couldn't erase the evidence he'd existed. Couldn't rewrite the hickies on his lover's throat, the bruises of his metal hand painted on her hips, the taste of him on her lips. They could wipe his mind, but they couldn't wipe his out of Christina's heart and that had proven itself, time and time again, to be enough.

Winter's hand travels to the hem of her white shift dress, tugging up the material and shoving down the front of her white lace tanga. His palm cups her at the apex of her thighs. Burying his face in her neck, the assassin inhales the familiar, intoxicating scent of her pomegranate and mango bodywash. He couldn't wait to have her again. She'd been shaken after her tangle with the _Bratva_ and he'd been to furious to focus on the promise sex held. In short, he'd wanted her for days— as soon as the memory of her had returned, following his mind-scrubbing in The Chair. But, she'd come back. The memory of her always came back.

Two warm, flesh fingers dip between her folds, thumb attacking her clit as he pumps his index and middle fingers inside of her. His lover whines loudly, immediately covering her own mouth with her free hand. Winter grins smuggly, nudging away her hand with his nose and pressing his greedy mouth to hers. His tongue slinks into her mouth, the two engaging in a little battle for dominance of their kiss, which Winter— of course— wins.

Eventually the primal instinct to take her is too much for the Asset to continue his teasing. He pulls back his from her mouth, ragged breath filling the space between them before he withdraws his hand from between her legs, making her mewl out in protest. Winter leans back, fumbling at his fatigues with his free hand. Christina quickly lends him a hand, tearing at the button on his trousers and popping them open. She dips her hand into his boxers, pumping his length beneath the material. Winter pushes them down along with his pants, revealing her hand stroking his thick, hard cock.

"Miss me?" Quips the assassin, recalling her saying that once. The length of his shaft brushes between her folds, making her siver and sending splinters of desire coursing through her. She needed him _now_. A lopsided grin plasters itself on Winter's face, smug because he knows how badly she wants him. Christina nods eagerly, kissing the corner of his mouth and whining as he smears the head of his cock against her clit.

She strains toward him, hips stuttering needily against the pressure of his cockhead against her clit. Working her hips toward him, she whimpers when her lover forces her to still. "I want to hear you say it," insists the Asset. Christina nods blindly, pressing kisses to his lips and the corner of his mouth, his stubble burning her chin. "Missed you, Winter. Missed you so much. Want you so bad." the blonde needily murmurs against his mouth.

He chuckles at her eagerness, kissing her back hungrily, before his length inside of her. A warbling moan fills his ears as he plunges into her, giving it to her all in one sure thrust, leaving him fully seated inside her. With his cock so deep inside, Christina feels full, like all the breathe was punched out of her. Winter kisses down her clenched jaw, giving her a moment to adjust before experimentally circling his hips.

Winter grins at the little gasp of a moan that sounds into his ear, beginning to pump his hips. Even while his rhythm slow and tender— being mindful of the injuries she'd gotten jumping from a moving car— he's still able to fuck her nearly to climax, but he isn't quite done with her yet. Winter withdraws from inside of her as he changes his hold, bracing her back flush with the wall as he cups the underside of her thighs. With her legs splayed on either side of his solid body, the assassin presses back between her folds, filling her up at an ever more maddening angle. He holds her legs open wide, fucking between them in deep, even thrusts that fuck the very air from her lungs.

Before she knew it her muscles were seizing, clenching down around his thick cock as he drove deeply into her. She kisses him in order to muffle her delirious cry, clinging desperately to his shoulders as he fucks her through her orgasm. Christina becomes a shuddering mess from the tilted angle that has his cock slamming against her sweet spot, her thighs trembling in his grip, as she tumbles over the edge.

Her helpess moan fills Winter's ears, her cunt squeezing his cock in a vice grip that had him _so damn close_. Several increasingly uncoordinated thrusts follow, his flesh-and-bone arm beginning to go lack, forcing him to turn them to the conference table behind them. Quickly laying her on it's surface, Christina moans as Winter pressing back inside and finds a punishing pace. She pulls him down on top of her, her heels grinding into his ass and their chests bumping. Her hands cling to his shoulders and her fingers bury in his long hair, tugging that encourages him to follow her into boneless bliss of orgasm.

Winter groans against her flesh, their noses and lips bumping in gentle brushes with his every thust. A breathy whimpering sound escapes him, despite his attempts to muffle himself against her mouth. He trembles between her parted thighs, finally stilling as he fills her with his come. Sagging against her lax form beneath him, the Soldier curls into Christina.

For a few minutes the two of them allow themselves to bask in the mind-altering bliss of their orgasms. Lying atop the table with Winter Soldier wrapped around her, the woman grins. She's out of breath, her clothing and hair are mussed, and her panties are defenitely going to be soiled— thanks to Mr. I-Don't-Believe-In-Pulling-Out— but she was content despite it all. They had each other, and Christina had proven, time and time again, they could wipe his mind, but he'd always have her. And, that would be enough.

Not long after Christina is returning home from work, a full week and two days after being nabbed by the _Bratva_. Her security detail has since been called off and her first two days of _training_ with Rumlow and Wagner had gone smoothly— though they'd only covered the basics of self defense at this point.

The woman is excited to be come home, especially knowing that the Winter Soldier will have completed his mission and is likely to arrive at any moment. She enters her apartment, bending over to unbuckle her heels before placing her clutch on the entryway console. Christina is excited, hoping that Winter would already be there and she's right to think so, as she rounds into the kitchen as spots a shadowed figure seated at the breakfast bar.

"You're early," Laughs the blonde as she turns to rummage through the fridge for something to drink. "Your mission must have went well." Christina concludes, before dropping her water bottle to the kitchen tile. The light of the refrigerator illuminates the shadow seated across from her, but the person seated at her breakfast bar isn't Winter, not even Rumlow, or any other Hydra agent. It's the _Bratva_ member who'd kidnapped her just a week prior.

Without a second thought, Christina scrambles into the living room, headed for the entryway before her legs are kicked out from under her. Disoriented, the woman screams when she feels the weight of whoever had tackled her pressing on top of her. She scratches, punches, kicks, and bites her way from the mobster, screeching at the top of her lungs. Why did it always happen like this? Her security detail is gone for two days and the next thing she knows, the Russian mob is camping out in her apartment.

Pinning her to the carpet, the gangster clamps a hand over her throat, choking her and forcing her to still her thrashing. "Sorry, _malyshka_. But, my boss still thinks we have a score to settle with you." The _Bratva_ member chuckles menacingly, admiring her trapped beneath him. "Not so tough without Hydra coming to back you up, are you?"

But, someone would be coming. Someone much worse for this _Bratva_ rat than just any old Hydra agent. Winter would be there soon and he'd save her again. It would only be a matter of staying alive until he gets there. Recalling Rumlow's defense training, Christina shifts, using the power of her legs to push her hips forward, she bridges to one side and knocks her attacker off kilter, freeing her hands. Grabbing his arms before the man has an opportunity to react, she brings her elbow to his nose at the same time she bridges her hips again and is able to knock him off of her.

Crawling across the carpet, Christina can hear the mobster exclaiming behind her as she manages to scramble away. Though it isn't nearly far enough, because she feels a hand wrap around her ankle, " _Idi syuda, ty suka!_ " The mobster bellows, yanking her back across the floor toward him. The blonde screams, raising her free foot and kicking him square in the teeth. She cramblers to her feet and dashes for her bedroom where the run Rumlow had given her was tucked away in her nightstand.

She can hear him practically right on her tail as she slams closed her bedroom door and locks it. Without pause she skids to her knees before her nightstand, tearing open the top drawer and wiping out the pistol. The loud pounding against the door shakes Christina to the core, fear and anger ripping through her. If he came for her one more time she'd end him properly.

All of a sudden the knocking stops and she hears the sound of three supressor shots fire off, followed by the thump of what she assumes to be a body, but she's too frozen in fear to check. Trembling on her knees at her bedside, Christina carefully places her gun on the floor. Three timid knocks sound against the wood of her bedroom door, but she doesn't budge.

"It's me, doll." Comes the Winter Soldier's voice. "Darlin' open the door." He sounds soft, softer than she's used to him sounding. "I got 'im, sweetheart. I promise." the assassin calls quietly, reassuringly. _Winter is here, Winter would protect her, Winter wouldn't let anyone harm her_.

"Okay," Christina whispers, but she knows that with his inhanced senses he'd been able to hear it. Crawling toward the door, she reaches out and turns the lock, drawing back as the door automatically opens. The Asset stands before her, blocking her view of the hallway, crowding her vision and gathering her in his strong arms. "I'll got you, darlin'. I've got you." Winter gently ensures.

An hour later she's seated on her living room couch, curled up with a steaming mug of tea craddled between her palms. Rumlow paces back and forth in front of her television as Rollins and a handful of agents are cleaning up the situation in her hallway.

After Winter had killed the mobster, he'd comforted her until the time came that she knew she needed to call someone. The assassin had repositioned the body flawlessly as Christina had called Rumlow and explained that the _Bratva_ member had broken into her apartment and she'd shot him trying to fend him off. The Asset left no trace that he'd ever been there behind, aside from his kiss on her lips as he disappears off the balcony shortly before the team arrived.

Sophia Wagner is seated on the couch beside her, checking Christina over as they await instruction from Alexander Pierce. She already knows her father will be furious, she can already feel the sinking in her gut. Someone was dead. Knowing that Hydra— that Winter— killed people all the time was different than being there. Just like the time with the Croatians. The Winter Soldier had killed everyone and she suspected that these _Bratva_ members would suffer the same fate. Christina suddenly feels sick, finds herself dashing for the bathroom and emptying the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

When she finally finishes retching and heaving into the porcelain, she finds Rumlow standing over her. "You okay?" Brock questions, actually sounding concerned. "As okay as I can be," murmurs the blonde as she wipes her mouth. The commando nods, helping her up off of the tile. "You're staying at your dad's tonight. I'm driving you." He informs, guiding her to her room passed the clean up team and directing her to gather some of her things. "And, starting tomorrow we're upping your training. You got lucky tonight." _Lucky is right_.

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
 _*Bratva — as in the Solntsevskaya Bratva (Солнцевская братва), the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood or the Russian Mafia_  
 _*Prosti, devushka (Прости, девушка) — Sorry, girl_  
 _*printsessa (принцесса) — princess_  
 _*Ostat'sya nazad! (Остаться назад) — Stay back!_  
 _*malyshka (малышка) — baby_  
 _*Idi syuda, ty suka! (Иди сюда, ты сука!) — Come here, you bitch!_

 _So Christina's going to finally get some proper training (took them long enough!), Rumlow and her are sort of buddies now, Winter is progressively more possessive, and we're getting closer to The Avengers plot. I'm probably gonna try and knock out the rest of 2010 and 2011 in the next couple of chapters and bring us into the more canon stuff. Thoughts, questions, concerns? Leave me a comment and let me know! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!_


	16. Paradise Lost

_Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel._

* * *

 _We've moved into September of 2010. I'm hoping to knock out 2011 and into 2012 in the next few chapters, meaning we're gonna meet up with The Avengers plot soon! I've had a few people wondering what kind of role Christina is going to play in The Avengers, but I'm sorry to break it to ya, Winter and Christina won't be crossing paths with our heroes. In fact, The Avengers is just going to be happening in the background. Two very important things are brought into play during The Avengers though; Cap being discovered in the ice and the Battle of New York, which will be specifically effecting our storyline. So, sorry to disappoint those of you that may have been hoping I'd be mixing up the plot. I am planning to diverge from the canon story, but not until CACW. Sorry, y'all!_

* * *

 _Courage is fear that has said its prayers and decided to go forward anyway._

* * *

Christina screams as Rumlow rounds on her unrelenting, tackling her to the ground and pinning her under all one-hundred-and-seventy plus pounds of him. The blonde grumbles, locking an ankle around the commando's leg and attempting to turn him over like she had the mobster who'd attacked her in her home. Kneeing him in the abdomen, she's able to bridge enough to throw him back off of her.

Scrambling across the floor, Christina tries to dodge his hand as he grabs her, but miscalculates by just an inch. Cursing as he traps her arm behind her back, the blonde attempts to free herself from his grip, but he drags her back across the ground to him. Locking onto his arm, she raises her knees to her chest, anchoring the soles of her feet against his chest and pushing off. It sends him stumbling back, leveling her with a smirk before dusting his hands off on his fatigues. "Alright, I'm callin' it. We're done for the day." Rumlow declares.

It has Christina collapsing onto the sparring mat with a fully undignified flop onto her back, fanning the material of her spacedye jumper. She's sweating from the workout and Brock has been picking on her the entire length of their training session. "Hit the showers, lazy." He calls, slapping her legs with the towel he'd used to wipe his sweat. The blonde cringes, whining as she rolls away from him, "Gross!"

Rumlow sits down cross-legged beside where she'd collapsed, breathing heavily. He'd gone a bit easier on her, but still he's proud to say that she's learning quickly and is determined to get her training down pat. "Next session we're going down to the shooting range." Christina stills at Brock's words, nervously fiddling with the end of her sweatshirt. MemoriesDread fills up inside of her, makes a home in the hollow of her chest as she sits up and staggers back onto her feet. "You'll be fine," Rumlow assures, "You know your way around a gun."

But, that's the problem; she really doesn't. Winter had shot that _Bratva_ mobster in her apartment, not her. Christina has never fired a gun in all her life, and even despite all the reasons she might need to— her work as a _fixer_ , her dad leading a Neo-Nazi terrorist group, her constantly being kidnapped, her sleeping with a notorious assassin— she never thought she'd have to. _Wishful thinking_ , she chides herself. 

It's ten in the evening when Christina is startled away from the work she's doing on her laptop. The Asset stands over her, metal hand heavy on her shoulder where he'd grabbed her and turned her to face him. "Winter," she exclaims, chuckling a bit and leaning into his grip, "You startled me." The assassin merely smirks, leaning down to kiss her.

Turning fully in her chair, Christina tangles her fingers in his hair, exclaiming giddily when he hoists her into his arms. The assassin scoops her up, sits her atop the counter beside her laptop, and pulls back to admire her for a moment. Her long hair secured up in a clip, her makeup free face, the grey robe she's dressed in— he tugs the tie of said robe, pushing it open and palming at the oriental patterned satin pajamas beneath. This beautiful woman is a vision, how else could something so wonderful have come into his life? Half the time he's sure he'd imagined her— until he has her in his grasp and is reminded that she's real.

The blonde moans, tugging him by his hair back to her lips. Winter's tongue invades her mouth, teeth clashing with hers as their tongues slide against each other in a battle for dominance. Nipping his teeth on her bottom lip, Winter parts her thighs, standing between them and pressing his chest flush with her torso. Christina whines into his mouth, legs coming up to curl around his waist as she pulls back from his insistent lips.

She combs her fingers through his dark locks, fingers smoothing his long bangs away from his face. "Play nice," the young woman chides, only to be met by a playful peck on the mouth. Giggling, Christina shakes her head as he kisses his way down her jaw to the curve of her throat. Burying his face in her neck, Winter sucks a possessive hickey into space where the base of her throat and her clavicle.

She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging roughly on his hair in a futile attempt to stop him. "You leave so many hickeys I look like a leper!" Grumbles the blonde, mentally scolding herself for nearly quoting _Grease_. _'A hickey from Kenickie is like a hallmark card,'_ she recalls, tittering despite herself. Winter pulls back, having left a significant love bite on her collarbone that satisfied his animalistic need to leave his mark on her. Watching her giggling to herself, the Asset finds himself grinning. He cups her cheeks, pressing a soft kiss on her smiling mouth.

Christina can feel the dread bubbling with the glee in the pit of her stomach. Things have been going so well since her tangle with the _Bratva_. Work was going well, her coworkers had survived— Hansen's accident had been major, but he'd managed to make it out with minor head trauma and a few broken ribs. Russell's car had caught on fire and ended up getting completely ingulfed, but he'd stopped at a diner on the way home and hadn't been inside when the small explosive had gone off— she was killing it in training.

But now Rumlow wanted to move onto guns and she's terrified her secret will be revealed. That she hadn't killed that mobster, that Winter had done it. Which would beg the question, what was the Winter Soldier doing in her apartment? They'd be caught and everything would be ruined. They'd wipe him and keep him from her, or worse they'd send him far away. And, her punishment? What would become of her? Would they wipe her? Would they send her away? Would they kill her? Christina isn't sure, but she knows she'd do anything to keep that fate from happening. 

She's pulled back from her raging thoughts by the cold metal of Winter's cybernetic hand brushing her face, coming up to mirror the flesh hand that is cupping her cheek. Blinking, the young woman leans forward to peck his plush lips. "Take me to bed?" she questions and the assassin is pleased to oblige, "Glady."

Hoisting her up, Winter smothers her flush to his chest and captures her mouth with his own. He carries her swiftly to her down the hall and to her bedroom, releasing a pleased moan when she locks her legs tighter around his hips. Pushing open the door to her bedroom, he plops her down on the mattress and pulls back to admire her flushed cheeks, her mussed hair, her disheveled clothes. One side of her robe hangs down off of her shoulder, along with the strap of her pajama tank top. She is goddamn gorgeous, and all his, and waiting for him.

Removing his jacket with it's many straps and snaps, followed by his utility belt and then his fatigues. He pushes them down and steps out of them, leaving himself in his black boxer-briefs. Christina tugs off her robe, yanking off her satin tank top and revealing her naked chest. Winter perks up at the sight of her, pretty flushed skin all bare and exposed for his gaze. Leaning back against the pillows, she smirks at him as she wags at finger at him, calling in the _come hither_ motion. " _Idi syuda,_ " _Come here,_ she calls in accented Russian.

Winter raises a questioning eyebrow, but follows her instruction, almost proud that she'd picked up enough of the language to confidently speak it to him. He crawls over the mattress, settling between her parted thighs and catching her lips in another dreamy kiss. Christina's fingers find their usual resting place buried in his hair as the Soldier tugs her bottom lip teasingly between his teeth. His flesh-and-bone hand tugs her matching satin shorts down her thighs, discarding them at the end of her bed before fiddling with her underwear.

The Winter Soldier pushes her knees together, anchoring them down toward her chest and yanking her by the hips down the mattress until she's lying flat on her back. His thumb attacks along her clit through the material on her panties. They're a white satin pair with a sheer panel at the front, petal embroidery embellishing the see-through material. He loves they way her fashion of underwear varies every time he sees them. Thongs, tangas, bikini-cuts; all in satin and lace of various colors. But, his favorite part is taking them off of her. _Cute_ , he thinks, before tearing them down her legs. 

Christina raises her hips up off of the bed, letting him remove her panties without argument, moaning when his fingers dig between her folds. Winter is gleeful to find her so wet for him, flesh-and-bone fingers plunging into the slick of her as his thumb works her clit. The blonde whines, clinging to his shoulders and moving her hips in time with the thrusts of his hand. He is so ridiculously good at this.

Winter slides down the length of the bed, flattening himself between her legs. His rock hard cock grinding against the mattress as he places her legs over his shoulder, and kisses down the length of her thigh. Christina shivers as he nuzzles the inside of her knee, his stumble burning her soft flesh as he pecks wet kisses down her inner thigh.

She smells like her body wash and her perfume— pomegranate and mango— the same scent he knows he'll always associate with her. It stays with him even when he can't fully recall their time together. But, even more enticing, she smells like the sweetness of arousal. He revels in knowing that she wants as badly as he needs her.

A sly grin paints his mouth as his head sinks between her parted thighs, continuing undetered toward his goal. Christina fingers thread through his dark tresses, gathering it in her fingers, petting almost lovingly. His mouth parts in the wake of his greedy tongue, licking first at the length of her slit before directing his attention to her clit.

The hand in his hair grips more tightly, trembling around her grip of his locks. Her thighs, too, tremble; legs twitching in little spasms from his attention to her core. Her legs clamp on either side of his head and he has to use his metal hand to pin her right leg back down. His flesh hand continues pumping into her, drawing little whines

His tongue hallows between her thighs, worships all the sweet places in a manner that has her opening up like a flower. Despite her thighs clamped over his ears, he can hear her high-pitched keening when his lips close the stiff nub of her clitoris. Christina's hips buck against his mouth, her back arching up off the mattress. Her body ripples under his fingertips, comes undone in his hands, grips his hair all the tigther and trembles beneath him. He doesn't let up until her tremors subside. 

After a few moments Christina's able to focus through the euphoric bliss hazing her mind. Winter lies on his side next to her, settled into the curve of her hip, his cybernetic arm drapped over her waist. She blinks a few times before finally settling her gaze upon the Asset's serene face. The latter wears a satisfied expression, seemingly sated despite going untouched by his lover— over even his own hand. "Hi," the blonde greets, turning into his slack armed embrace, said arm tigthening around her hip afterwards. "Hello," Winter replies quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear with his flesh hand.

The woman smiles, pushes the Soldier flat onto his back and rolls onto her stomach with him. Pressed flush with the assassin, Christina finds his mouth and kisses him senseless. Winter seems content to let her have her way, only serving to grip her waist and cup her flushed cheeks as she straddles his waist. His hands migrate north, tangling in her hair as she nips open his lips and her tongue invades his mouth.

With one hand balanced on the mattress above Winter's shoulder to steady herself, Christina uses her free hand to dip beneath the hem of his underwear. Taking his still hard, leaking, cock she pumps him a few times in her hand before sitting up. A disappointed sound leaves the Asset's mouth as she leans back to pull his boxer briefs down his thighs to his knees. The blonde continues to stroke him, fluidly from head to hilt, twisting his wrist in time with each pump of his exceptional length. " _Fuck,_ " he groans, replacing her hand with his own as Christina lifts her hips and eases herself down on him.

Both of their moans resound through her bedroom as she begins working herself on his lap. Up, down, up, down. Winter's steel blue eyes hold her cerulean gaze. It's intimate, encompassing, passion that washes over them and swallows them whole. She sets a rhythm, a pace, supporting herself with her hands on the assassin's chest. His own hands grip her rocking hips, assists her bouncing on his greedy cock. Christina leans down, nips at his bottom lip and then focuses on his unyielding stare. Nothing matters more than the steady movement of her hips, the up and down, the rhythmic pace of his own thrusting up into her, the pleasure curling in her core and on the vulnerable expression on his face.

Winter's wrecked moans fill the silence of her empty apartment, letting her have her way with him, all malleable and pliant beneath the sweet warmth of her taking him whole. She looks down at him; watches his lust-blown pupils, the way his head tilits back and his mouth falls open as he moans, the way his eyebrows pinch with the promise of release. His bruising grip clutches her hips, grinding her down on him the closer he gets to his orgasm, delicious little sounds wrenching from his throat when Christina shifts the angle of her hips and reaches down with one hand to find her clit.

The sensation tips the scales, has her crying out and coming undone in just seconds. Her pace stutters, but she tries her best to fuck him through her peak. Winter fucks up into her, his lover's cunt clenching and pulsing as he chases his own release. He finds it quickly, following Christina over the edge and filling her up with spunk, coming with a strangled whine. She tsks at him, at the sticky, full feeling of his semen spilling inside of her. She collapses on top of him with a satisfied groan, his entire body wracked with tremors as he comes down from the high of post-orgasmic bliss. She collapses on top of him, a satisfied groan leaving her pink lips as she attempts to roll onto the mattress beside him, but he holds her steady in his arms. 

When they both come down, Winter comes out of his dizzy haze feeling the same way he does after a brief nap— Had he slept again? He isn't sure, but Christina's fingers are drawing invisible patterns on his skin, tracing over the scars where the metal arm is grafted onto his shoulder. Sometimes he hates it, the cybernetic prothetic, the weapon. He hates the scars worse— they're gruesome and ugly. They remind him of what he is; a weapon, a machine, an asset. But, Christina doesn't mind them. Not the arm and not the scars, she'd once mentioned that it was her favorite body part of his— apart from his eyes.

His lover stirs, sated and exhausted as she lies with him, half on top of him, half leaning on the mattress. They're curled together close, like proper lovers do after they make love. She likes to pretend that they're proper lovers sometimes. That he lovers her. Especially when he looks at her with those puppy dog eyes, big and blue, beautiful. He kisses her like a proper lover would and his hands begin to mimic hers, drawing unintelligible patterns into her flesh almost lovingly.

That's when he notices the bruises. Unlike the kind he usually leaves— on her waist, her hips— these liter her sides and her legs, her shoulders and the insides of her forearms— the same way defensive wounds would. Winter pauses in his gentle pattern drawing, taking in the speckled, minor bruises. Some older, some angry and purple, newer. He forces them both to sit up and gives her a proper once-over now that he's no longer clouded by lust.

Had he done this? Was he that rough with her or worse, was it something he'd done but couldn't remember doing? Numerous scenarios play out in his head, but in every one he'd still hurt someone that was _his_. How could he do that to her? Christina can practically see the dread spiralling through the Winter Soldier as he looks her over, "What's wrong?"

"Did I do this?" He questions softly, inspecting the wounds with concerned eyes and knitted brows. "No," she breathes with a light chuckle, feeling his fingers skim over the tender flesh. He's all gentle and the guilt is written across his face like ink on the pages of a book.

"Winter, you didn't hurt me. This happened at work." His face goes dark, eyes brooding, who had done this? "These as well?" This time he traces over the bruises on her forearms, "No, that was from training." Christina explains. A single, thick brow raises and he looks her in the eye.

"Do you remember Agent Rumlow?" Male, five-foot-ten, brunette, spiky hair, S.T.R.I.K.E. team commander, one of the Soldier's handler. The assassin nods. "He and Agent Wagner are teaching me some offensive combat incase of another emergency." Winter doesn't like that, the idea of his lover in close quarter combat with a man like his handler— or simply in close quarters with any man at all. "Because of what happened with the _Bratva_?"

Nodding, Christina eases him back down against the bed. She can tell that doesn't help him settle any better. "But, I can protect you." He answers, sounding both stubborn and confused. Yes, he could, but not forever. "Until you can't, Winter." She replies softly, "You're in Europe so often lately. You can't always be here to save me, babe. I just want to be able to save myself sometimes, ya know?" And, Winter won't argue with that. Her safety is his top priority. Still, he has to disagree with her trainer.

"I agree that would be preferable. But, I am much more qualified to be training you than Rumlow." A part of his brain briefly recalls something. Something that isn't Christina or The Vault. A vast mansion, ballerinas with the Bolshoi, twenty-eight fearless girls. He'd trained people before. _'Training is hard, but the glory of the soviet supremacy, and the warmth of my parents…. my parents…. makes up for…'_ Winter flinches and the foreign voice fades out, a million images assaulting his mind's eye.

Christina cups his face between her palms, unaware of the war waging in his head. She kisses away the unknown, her gentle mouth chasing the memories back into the void and grounding him to the present, to her. "Well, I'll admit, I'd agree to that." She's referring to his proposal about training her— at least more efficiently than Agent Rumlow— but he's forgotten all about that in wake of his sudden flashback. Curling into Christina, he wraps his arms around her back, shaky and spent, but the clinginess translates over perfectly; he wants to keep her close. She nearly misses the quiet declaration of "Mine," that he makes under his breath, mouth baring down on her collarbone in gentle, possessive pecks, but she does hear it. _God_ , she loves him.

* * *

 _A/N: So Christina's training is in full swing. She and Rumlow are sort of buddies, her relationship with Winter is progressing with each chapter, and our favorite assassin is beginning to remember things. Anybody know who's quote that was in his little flashback? That was a little easter egg for ya. I'm hoping to knock out 2011 and the beginning of 2012 in the next few chapters and bring us into the more canon universe. Big things are coming into play soon._

 _Thoughts, questions, concerns? Leave me a comment and let me know! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!_


	17. Ever-turning Sword

_I don't own Marvel._

* * *

 _A/N: Someone asked me if Winter and Christina were ever gonna get caught and I thought, ya know what? Why not?_

* * *

 _You know better babe, you know better babe,_  
 _Than to smile at me, smile at me like that_  
 _You know better babe, you know better babe,_  
 _Than to hold me just, hold me just like that._

 _I know who I am when I'm alone_  
 _Something else when I see you_  
 _You don't understand, you should never know_  
 _How easy you are to need._

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Christina questions as she climbs off of his motorcycle, lead by the hand into the thick cover of foliage by the Winter Soldier. The assassin guides her deep into the forest, weapon's strapped tight to his usual tactile gear. She nerves bubble up in the pit of her stomach, blindly allowing him to take her to a deserted woodland area all by themselves in the dead of night. She isn't afraid that he'd harm her, but that doesn't mean it's exactly safe.

"Can't teach you to shoot if we're in the city, doll." He'd taken her the nearly two hour drive all the way out by Catoctin Mountain Park in Maryland. They aren't actually in the National Park, just somewhere along the vast miles of forest leading up to it. Finally he stops her and she finds herself in the center of a vast sea of trees surrounding them.

Winter takes out his gun, aiming at a branch that is illuminated in the dim moonlight. Christina flinches, though it isn't as loud with the silencer present. The branch is snapped in half by the bullet's impact, tumbling through the air and toward the ground. It crashes to the forest floor a few feet away from them. She has to admit she's impressed, she'd bet her life he never misses. In fact, she'd staked her life on it a couple times already.

"Now your turn, darlin'." insists the Asset, passing her the gun. She takes it in her dominant hand, like she knows she should, aiming it at another tree branch with a slack grip. "Wait," Winter interrupts. The blonde pauses as instructed, feeling him moving behind her. The assassin molds himself into her back. "Broaden your stance," he first instructs.

His arms wrap around her, hands sliding the length of her arms and covering her hands with his own. "Shooting should always be done with two hands when possible," He tells her softly, better positioning her hands. "A two-handed grip is more stable, therefore more accurate. You're using the correct hand, but your grip should be here—" she pushes the gun lower in her palm, "—placed high on the grip. Make sure you hold it firmly and your finger should never be on the trigger unless you're prepared to fire."

He moves onto her left hand, "The heel of your non-dominant hand should cover the exposed portion of the grip. Cup the underside of the gun with the inside of your palm." She obeys, finally gripping the gun correctly. Steadying her arms with his gentle hands, Winter uses his knee to nudge her legs a bit wider. "Your feet should be a shoulder width apart. Bend your knees, just slightly. There. Don't lock them and don't flex your legs." His directions are spoken directly in her ear, his breath on her neck so incredibly distracting.

"Square your shoulders," his chest is pressed against her back as he helps to position her. "Lean forward slightly with your torso, hold the gun close to your abdomen, pointed toward your target. This is the ready position." She hadn't known any of this, not even how to properly grip the damn gun. This practice was good, at the very least she'd be able to fool Rumlow into believing she'd shot that mobster.

"Now, which eyes is your dominant eye?" Questions her lover. Dominant eye? Is there such a thing? She turns her head to give him a curious look. "Fully extend your arm and focus on the end of the barrel. Close one eye." Christina does as instructed. "Did it move from its original position when both of your eyes were open?" She nods. "Then you're looking through your non-dominant eye. Try the other." This time the barrel remains seemingly still. "Did it move?"

The blonde shakes her head, proud that she's actually learning. "Then your dominant eye is your right, like your hands, but don't assume that's the same for everyone. It can vary." Nodding curtly, Christina is eager to learn more. She soaks up his every direction like a sponge, hangs on his every word. She's sure she's never heard him speak this much as once.

"Keep your arms extended, don't lock them. Bend your elbows a bit, but keep your shoulders square to the target. No leaning to one side, you'll feel compelled to blade toward your dominant side. Don't." His instructions are simple but informative, best of all she doesn't feel that he'll become irritable correcting her the way that Rumlow sometimes does. "Now aim."

Doing as told Christina looks down the top of the gun, pointing it to the branch again. "Keep your dominant eye on the front sight so that it rests in the middle of the rear notched sight. That front sight should be on your target. From longer distances it'll cover the target almost entirely. Do you have it in your sights?" She nods. "Good, hold it there."

Touching her hand again, Winter positions her fingers. "You want the center of the first part of your finger to come in contact with the entire trigger." He puts it where he wants it. "If you're off center with your trigger finger, the gun will want to pull to the left or right. When you fire press with direct pressure, but don't jerk your hand, alright darlin'?" Christina gives him a shy smile, nodding firmly. "Go ahead and give it a try."

Clicking off the safety, Christina follows all his directions. She stands wide-footed and proud, shoulders squared, and arm extended steadily. She lines her sights up with the target and then pulls the trigger. The gun goes off with more kick than she's expecting, but she's able to hit the branch. Though it isn't at the base where Winter had been able to shoot it off. It's further along, but only a few inches off. "Good," her lover assures, rubbing her shoulders. He leans into her again, arms coming around hers and holding under she elbows, better steadying her unconsciously trembling arms. His touch makes the shaking stop.

"Focus, doll." He breathes into her hair, nose brushing against her earlobe gently. Christina shivers at the closeness, despite the situation. "Look through your sights. Visualize the target." Doing as told, she forces herself to ignore the intimacy in it all. "Breathe." She does. "Inhale." She does. "Fire." She does. "Exhale."

Releasing the air she'd held burning in her lungs, she lowers her arm and watches the branch crashing to the forest floor. Christina turns to Winter with a gleeful smile, leveling him with her expression of sheer excitement. "That's my girl," he grins in reply. She clicks on the safety before throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him happily. "You're ready, darlin'. You're gonna knock Rumlow dead."

Passing the gun back to him, she curls into his one armed embrace. "Oh yeah? What about you, Soldier?" Christina teases, laughing when he nearly tackles her to the ground. She can feel grass beneath her, softer than she was expecting it do be. "You always knock me dead, babydoll." He jokes, lips parting in the wake of the wolf grin that plasters itself on his mouth, his voice baritone and suggestive. "That so?"

Winter nods, "Yeah," and then unzips the black bomber jacket she wearing, pushing it open and admiring the little white crop-tank top beneath. His metal hand traces across the flat of her stomach, smoothing over the dip of her ribs. "Want you all the time." The Asset admits and Christina knows that's the truth. She let's him push her tank top up over the cup of her bra and fondle her breasts, her fingers tangling in his brunette hair. "Me too."

The assassin pushes her jacket off of her shoulders and yanks her tank top off over her head, blood pumping in his ears as her hands simultaneously tear off his utility belt and open the zipper of his fatigues. With his lover's hand down the front of his boxers, expertly tugging his length in her palm, Winter works Christina's black Calvin Klein leggings down her thighs and removes her white sneakers.

Finally getting her in just her underwear, he admires the branded white material. It's plain in comparison to her usual get ups, but he still likes the little thong and the way they correspond with her black and white outfit. "Always so pretty for me, babydoll." He says hungrily, removing his tactical gear and his trousers.

The mid-September air is chill, but the temperature is leveled out in the low 70's, warm enough even in their state of undress to not suffer from exposure to the elements. Christina's heart rate goes haywire. They haven't done anything risqué like this in a while, which only makes her want him all the more. She tucks her fingers into the band of his boxer briefs, pulling them down to his knees and letting him take the lead in removing them completely. Utterly nude and exposed out in the open, Winter doesn't mind his nakedness, is only concerned with getting her equally as bare.

Christina is quick to remove her bra as Winter drags her panties down her legs and discards them with the rest of their clothing. He eases open her thighs, smearing his slick cockhead along her slit. She moans, holding onto his biceps as the assassin presses inside of her, cock making her feel needy and full. "Please," the blonde groans, begging though she isn't sure what for. "Please what, darlin'? What do you need?" He questions, smirk painted on his sinful mouth. "Need you to fuck me, Winter." So he does.

Gunshots resound, echoing through the shooting range as Rumlow stands over Christina's right shoulder looking impressed. She'd hit six of her ten targets dead center, missing the other four by only a few inches each time. By the time she makes her tenth target Brock is genuinely clapping for her. "You're better at this than I thought, Christina." The commando admits, clapping her on the shoulder. "Good job."

 _Well, I had a good teacher_ , she muses internally. And some good incentive too, the outdoor sex was some of the best she and Winter have had in a while. It's all about the thrill, the risk of being caught. But, when he takes her all gentle in her bed it's good too. She'd never be able to choose if asked. The thrill and adrenaline had been the basis of her relationship with the Winter Soldier, but now there's so much more than that.

Blinking out of her reverie, she glances to Rumlow, who's now returned with her target sheets. He truly seems impressed by her progress. Sofia Wagner and Andrey Pavlov join them as Christina and Rumlow make their way out of the firing range and down the hall to the elevator. Stepping into the lift with the agents, she passes Sofia— the other agent who's helping her train— the target sheets. The blonde, German-American woman is happy to see the boss' daughter doing so well.

Exiting the elevator on the armory floor, the four of them exit and make their way to the weapon's room to return their guns. Wagner and Rumlow walk ahead, animatedly discussing the next phase of Christina's training. Pavlov walks along side the PR Specialist, side eyeing the silent girl as the trek toward the security check. Each of them enter through the armory doors, one by one. They log their weapons and return each gun to their respective places.

But, filing out of the room is when Christina pauses caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the Winter Soldier. The Asset is unattended, coming back to gather weaponry for his upcoming mission. The assassin pauses as well, watching her closely and twitching with the urge to close the distance between them. Their gazes meet, locking them at a standstill even as her company continues down the hallway without her.

Christina longs to touch him. Wants to welcome him with a hug, wants to let him know of their successful practice session, wants to show off her target papers to him. Most of all she wants him to praise her and reward her with a kiss. More wishful thinking, but she just wishes they could do the simplest of things. She tires of hiding from prying eyes.

Pavlov comes to a stop, noticing Christina's absence and glancing back to find the boss' daughter at a stand still with the Asset. The Russian agent raises a questioning brow, turning to face the odd pair. They say nothing, but the tension resonates off of them in waves. He's noticed moments like these before, but it's the first time he's ever considered the reason for why. What is going on between Pierce's daughter and The Winter Soldier?

Christina snaps out of it first, noticing Pavlov and clearing her throat. Winter turns his head, follows her line of sight and takes in the agent eyeing them warily down the hall. He turns his back to the man, facing the weapons room door and side eyeing his lover. "Conference room twelve in fifteen minutes." He tells her under his breath and then disappears through the threshold. She clears her throat, strutting down the hallway and passed the curious agent with merely a shrug in regard to him. Best not to draw any more attention to them. She doesn't realize that it's much too late for that.

Sneaking down to the lower floors, Christina rushes into the conference room number twelve and is greeted by Winter's welcoming embrace. "We don't have long." He tells her, tugging her into the dark room and kissing her senseless. The blonde moans, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him onto her. She wants him like crazy, but not in the same carnal way she usually does. She wants to crawl into his chest and stay with him always.

Neither of them hear the silent padding of a single pair of stealthy footsteps. Christina is never very aware of her surroundings and Winter is too caught up with wrapping her close to him and making use of their short rendezvous. The blonde begins to unzip her black pleather pants and push up her navy colored blouse, but the assassin stops her. "Not now," insists the Asset, although he looks disappointed. "Tonight, after my mission." He assures, "I'll come and give it to you properly, doll."

The couple send the rest of their short time together curled close to each other on the conference room couch. Christina seated on Winter's lap, her finger threading through his dark hair as she tells them about her successful day at the firing range. Winter engages her occasionally, letting her do most of the talking, interrupting her every so often to kiss her hungrily. Neither of them have any care in world outside of their little cocoon, haven't any idea of the nosey agent outside the door listening to their every word, haven't any idea that he could ruin it all.

As promised Winter shows up at her apartment that evening around 9 PM, his mission had been simple, boring even. More high-stealth surveillance stuff, he doesn't bother to elaborate further than that, but Christina is fine with it. She doesn't want to talk about work, not his and not hers. That night she just wants to be like any other couple. That includes wanting to leave the safety of her apartment complex.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, darlin'." Winter sighs, sitting down on her couch as the woman shakes her head and crouches down beside his lap. "Please? I'm starving." She whines, trying a cute pout on him. The assassin nearly rolls his eyes, but resists. "Just make dinner or order that takeout stuff like that one time."

Christina groans, shaking his knee insistently. "There's a food truck I really wanna go to that's within walking distance. Please, babe? It's really good." Winter gives her a withering look, more surprised with her effect on him than he is by the sight of her whining like a kid. She's very convincing with her pleading eyes, pinched brows, and pouty lips. He wants to kiss her again. Damn this woman.

"I've even got some clothes you could wear. We could fit right in, eat our food, and come right home. Promise!" Christina exclaims, knowing that the more she presses the closer he comes to caving. She's pretty proud knowing that she has the notorious Winter Soldier, fearsome and deadly assassin, wrapped around her little finger. "Please, babe?" In the end it's that nickname that wins her the war.

Crossing his arms almost moodily, the Asset levels her with a blank look, but she can tell he's about to agree. She rubs his knee for good measure and pecks his cheek, "Please?" Grumbling he decides instead to inquire about the clothes she'd mentioned rather than admit defeat. Christina is scrambling to her feet and peeling off toward her bedroom before he can even say another word. Sighing with resignation, he follows her down the hall.

She produces a hooded, navy colored Carhartt jacket, a black four-button Henley, and pair of black sweatpants from a few hangers hiding at the back of her closet. "I haven't gotten you shoes yet," Christina admits, "I haven't had a chance to check you shoes size. But the sweats are long, they'll cover your combat boots well enough." He can see more men's clothes back there and the assassin wonders who they belong to. Christina seems to read his mind as she begins unbuttoning his tactical gear. "I got them for you," she explains, "After that time with the Croatians."

Warmth bubbles in the pit of his stomach, sparks something inside of him that he'd been sure was long dead. "You didn't tell me," Is all he's able to reply. She merely shrugs, "Things are different now." It's the first time either of them have mentioned it out loud, even dared to imply there might be more than just sex going on between them, even if it's clear without words. Saying it out loud makes it real and being real makes it dangerous for them both. But, Winter nods in agreement and changes into the clothes.

Christina gives him a cap and a pair of leather gloves to wear before they walk out the door. She's able to convince him it's a good idea as long as he brings his gun. He does, along with multiple knives. He makes her bring her gun too, shows her how to tuck it away in the waistband of her black pants. They make their way down the street huddled close, Winter's arm wrapped around the small of her back. The street is dark, aside from the dim street lamps— as it's already 9:45 at night. Only a few people pass them as they make the trek a few blocks over to the main road where this so called _food truck_ is.

It's exactly as it's name would imply. Christina leads him up to a black industrial van with a striped awning, a sliding door, and a window on the side; a large one that has a man leaning out of it as he takes the order of a customer waiting in the short queue. The line consists of only four other people— two frat boys and a young married couple— and another person is standing to the side of the van, holding his dog on a leash with one hand and stuffing his face with a sandwich in the other hand.

Winter falls in line beside her, making sure to keep a distance between the two of them and the other patrons. He's cautious and almost paranoid, but Christina takes his gloved right hand and squeezes it in hers. She steps a little closer to him, crowding close under the brim of his black cap. "Relax," she whispers, "We're okay, babe." _Goddamn,_ he loves that nickname. Loves the way she humanizes him, how she'd begun calling him _Winter_ because she doesn't like not having a name to call him. Doesn't like how to Hydra he isn't a person, he's a weapon, a machine. Christina makes him something new, something other than the Asset, the hound, the Fist of Hydra. For that he's thankful and he'd do anything to repay that kindness, including take her to stupid food trucks long after dark.

He grips that warm hand, brings it up to his mouth and kisses each knuckle. His girl giggles, leaning in and up toward his mouth. She gives him a brief kiss, but _god_ is it good, and sweet, and all the things he doesn't deserve to have. But, they're his now and so is she.

Someone clears their throat and he pulls back, noticing the man at the food truck window is waiting for them to order. He hangs back while she marches up to the window, watching her chatting up the middle aged man as she orders and pays, before returning to his side to wait for her food. Christina pecks his mouth again, a huge, beautiful grin plastered on her cute mouth. "You're gonna love this," She tells him, "The food here is so good."

Winter hadn't expected food for him as well, although he should have— Christina is often feeding him, but he can't get used to the idea of someone actually _caring_ about his food intake. But, he doesn't say that— how could he? Not only would it dampen the mood, it would chase away that pretty smile on her face, so he merely tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Christina nods eagerly, wrapping her arms around his waist. Winter hesitates for only a second before he puts both arms around her, drawing her right up into his chest. To anyone on the street they look like any other happy couple. He feels almost self conscious, like something old and dead in him is whispering that public displays of affection are rude and inappropriate, but Christina nuzzles under his chin and he pushes that voice away. The fall chill is creeping in— only ever the slightest, but enough to need a jacket after dark— and he's not the type to let his girl go cold.

The food truck man calls out their order number and Christina kisses his cheek, slinking away from him to fetch the food, and returning with two orders of hot, pulled brisket sandwiches on pretzel buns and two sides of potato wedges. She pulls them a few hundred feet down the street and finds a good spot in the empty park. Seating them at a picnic table behind some trees, she sits down next to Winter and passes him food, urging him to dig in.

As she'd promised, the food is great. Really great, but it doesn't beat her home cooked meals. They eat in comfortable silence, aside from Christina's occasional obscene moans. In the time they've been together he's come to except that she _really_ likes her food. He thinks it's another charming quality of hers, not to mention how adorable it is.

When the truly delicious food is finished, Christina takes their trash and tosses it in a nearby trash can, before leading him by the hand back to her apartment building. She laces her fingers with his own gloved hands, bumping shoulder to shoulder as they tread along side by side. The chill is only light, but it still makes her want him closer, has her tucking herself against his side. Winter, of course, offers zero protest.

A street over Christina pushes the Soldier into a side alley, surprising him a bit at the sudden change of direction. He gives her a questioning look, but she merely shrugs, "Short cut." The assassin let's her lead him alleyway, noting the mischievous grin stuck on her mouth. "What?" He asks, confused by her seemingly giddy behavior. The pretty blonde shrugs again, leaning back against the brick of a random building— an apartment complex too, he'd guess.

He stops walking, closing in on where she's reclined back against the wall. "What are you thinkin', darlin'?" Questions Winter, winding his arm around her waist. He pulls her flush to him, the brim of his cap and his nose bump against her's as he leans in. "Thinkin about you." Christina replies seductively, melting into the closeness of him. It looked like another round of risky, outdoor sex was in his future and he would be happy to oblige, if it's what she wants. "Is that so?"

His girl nods, reaching up to push the cap off of his head and tangle her fingers in his hair. "That's better," she grins and moves to cover his mouth with her own. Winter falls into the kiss, tongue delving into her mouth as he shoves her further up against the wall. The closeness of her washes over all his senses, his sole focus directed entirely on _Christina, Christina, Christina_.

He doesn't even hear the approaching footsteps until suddenly the sound of laughter draws him back from her. Winter turns on the stranger swiftly, going into defensive position without a second thought. At the end of the alley way stands Agent Pavlov, genuinely laughing at the sight in front of him. "Look at you, _Soldat_. I knew something was going on when I saw you two, but this! I didn't imagine this!" He chides, "Playing domestic, pretending to be like a normal man, taking out his girl!"

Behind her lover, Christina keeps her arms anchored on Winter's biceps, her mind racing as she tries to think up a way out of this. No matter what she considered, the result wouldn't be favorable for her or the Asset. This would be the end of them. _It's all over_ , she thinks, praying that they wouldn't take him from her. But, she knows that ultimately they would. It's only a question of what punishment they would have in store for _her_.

Pavlov's ruthless expression tells her that it would be a truly violent punishment. "You're not a man, _Soldat._ You're the hound!" The Agent cheers, "And if it takes this girl's undoing to prove it to you then so be it. Her father would never allow her to compromise you, his daughter or not!" The Russian reaches for his cell phone, "Rumlow won't believe this," he cackles.

In an instant Winter reaches for his gun in the waistband of his sweats and moves toward his opponent, but is a moment too slow. Pavlov aims his own glock at the assassin, gazing down the barrel at him and wording him down. " _K_ _hvatit_!" _Stop_ , the agent growls, " _Ili ya ub'yu vashu zhenshchina_." Whatever he says makes the Asset freeze in place obediently.

Pavlov's attention is directed solely on the Winter Soldier, as it rightfully should be. Every person who'd ever been at the opposite end of the assassin gun was quick to meet his maker. So he pays little mind to Christina, much less expecting her to be armed until the moment she's stealthily reaching into the band of her leggings and carefully taking out the gun Rumlow had given her. She puts it behind her back, clicking off the safety, which Winter is able to catch with his superior hearing.

Leveling Pavlov with a murderous glare, he makes sure the agent remains focused on him as Christina takes aim and fires. It's sudden and poorly coordinated, so she only manages to clip him in the shoulder, but that's all the distraction Winter needs to close the distance between them and snap the Russian's throat with his metal hand.

The sound of the silencer isn't loud enough to stir the sleepy neighborhood. By now it's 10:35 at night and the back alley is totally deserted. Christina stands a few feet away from Winter and the crumbled body of Agent Pavlov, leaning against the wall for support as she sucks in numerous panicky breaths. Her lover drags the Russian's corpse out of sight of the street, turning to comfort the blonde when he's finished just as she begins to go into hysterics.

Shushing her, Winter wraps Christina in his arms and holding her to his chest as she sobs. "They'll gonna know, they're gonna find us, we're gonna get caught." She begins to ramble, practically inconsolable as she falls to pieces in his arms. The Soldier shakes his head, tries to assure her, to soothe her as best he can. He wouldn't let this ruin them, he'd protect her no matter the cost. Kissing the hysteria from her system, he's able to calm her down by holding her close and comforting her as best he could manage.

"I'll take care of it." Is all that he tells her when he sends her home alone, gun tucked safely back into her waistband. And, take care of it he does, while his girl waits at home for him on baited breath. In the next six hours he steals a car a few streets over, hauls Pavlov's body into the trunk wrapped in a discarded tarp he'd found in a random backyard.

He drives upstate, into Maryland to a random, distant forest. He finds a permanently closed deserted summer camp and an old concrete shelter where he unloads the corpse. It takes him two-and-a-half hours to burn the body down to the bones, gathering the calcified ash when the embers burn out. Winter rids himself of the ashes in a passing river on his way back to DC. He makes sure to get rid of the bullet from Christina's gun separately.

When he returns to Christina's apartment it's nearing 5 AM and in an hour he will have to report to the extraction point. The twenty six year old woman is still awake when he enters, her eyes are red from crying and he can see the fear written all over her tear-stricken face. Winter holds her, does all he can do to comfort her, tries to ease the horror now etched into her. It does little to calm the raging sea of her mind. There would be no turning back now, she thinks. They'd come much too far, but Christina isn't sure of how much further her conscious would allow her to go with him.

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_

 _*Soldat (солдат) — Soldier_  
 _*Khvatit (Хватит) — Stop, often used like "That's enough"_  
 _*Ili ya ub'yu vashu zhenshchina (Или я убью вашу женщина) — Or I'll kill your woman_

 _A/N: Well here we are y'all, the dark side. That's not gonna weight very well on Christina unfortunately. Ya know, we had some almost domestic cutest but of course we've gotta rip the carpet out under our leads and make sure they stay focused. More personality is beginning to shine through with Winter and that isn't going to translate over well for him. What are your thoughts on her friendship with Rumlow? What about this budding domesticity they had going on for a bit there? Or Christina and her character development. Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Expect the combined guilt and fear from this chapter to take the couple a while to work through, which means we're going to be moving up in the timeline. Closer and closer to 2012, everybody. Any guesses on what I have coming for them?_


	18. It Will Come Back

_I don't own Marvel, y'all._

* * *

 _Three consecutive updates in three weeks? Whaaat? So here we are, as of now we're in October 2010. We're gonna knock out several months here and make it into 2011 by the end of this chapter. How ready for 2012 are we?_

* * *

 _Don't let me in with with no intention to keep me_  
 _Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me._  
 _Honey, don't feed me I will come back._

 _Can't be unlearned_  
 _I've known the warmth of your doorways_  
 _Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you_  
 _Oh please, give me mercy no more._  
 _That's a kindness you can't avoid!_  
 _I want you baby tonight, as sure as you're born_  
 _You'll hear me howling outside your door._

* * *

Winter reports to the extraction point in time to beat the team and is transported back to the The Vault, where he's prepped for cyro and put back in the Cradle without incident. Things don't go as smoothly for Christina. She takes the next few days really hard. If Pavlov's absence is noted, no one says mentions it to her. Her days go on as they normally would; working with the Valkyrie team, having dinners with her father, training with Rumlow and Wagner. It's a few weeks before she sees the Winter Soldier again.

When she does, he's looking worse for wear. His eyes are cold and tired, the skin beneath them grey and sunken from lack of rest. Winter doesn't register her straight out of the Cradle or later on in the med bay. Christina is ushered out by Rumlow as her soldier is given various needles full of unknown substances and she doesn't see him after that for another month, maybe more. But, she's almost grateful for the distance.

For weeks after that night in the alley, she has nightmares. Every time she closes her eyes she feels the weight of the gun in her hand, the kick of pulling the trigger, hears the resounding shot suppressed by the silencer, sees Winter snapping Andrey Pavlov's neck. It's needless to say she has a number of sleepless nights and takes to her mini-bar a lot more than she'd like to admit. She hits the alcohol hard and it begins to show.

"You really like your hard liqueur tonight, Chris." Rumlow chides, nabbing her glass from her after the fifth drink. They're at the _Public Bar_ for their usually beers-and-burgers gathering, but his friend is hitting the bottle a little harder than he approves. The blonde protests, annoyed and longing to forget. "It's been a tough work week," she defensively grumbles, leaning across the booth and attempting to snatch back her drink. She fails.

"Brock! Come one," whines Christina, slumping against the table in defeat. The commando shakes his head, "I think you've had enough." Normally, he would mind his own business. After all the fixer is a grown woman, she's got a good head on her shoulders, and hates being told how to behave. But, with her chasing beer with five glasses of even stronger stuff, Rumlow knows to put his foot down. "I'll order you some water," he insists, disappearing to do so. Christina flicks him off behind his back. The asshole took her liqueur with him.

November breezes by in a whirlwind of mediocre cases, halfhearted training sessions, and numerous late nights slumped over her toilet in an alcoholic stupor. If the timing of Christina's sudden alcohol dependency lines up with Agent Pavlov's disappearance, no one mentions it. Not Wagner, or Rumlow, or her father. Andrey Pavlov vanishes from the face of the Earth and she never hears of him again. But he haunts her dreams.

When Winter returns from a month long assignment on the eastern coast of the Black Sea, Christina is both relieved and struck with guilt. Her soldier is back, is home safe, but no one can say the same for the Russian agent. There was once a time that she'd dreamed of being a _champion_ _for justice_. She'd wanted to uphold the law and do good in a city of corrupt and immoral hypocrites, she'd wanted to be cut from a different cloth. Then she'd been kidnapped by mercenaries, learned about Hydra, started sleeping with the Winter Soldier. Two years had flown by, in fact just a month's time would mark three years since the start of it all, and Christina can no longer recognize herself.

Learning that he's returned, Christina is glad. That she'd come home safely, that he'd gone uninjured and uncompromised. But, she also knows that means whoever had been at the opposite end of his gun was dead now. That he had the blood of so many on his hands. How many people had died at the firing end of his gun? How many people had died at his hand? She doesn't think she could bear the weight of that number. She can barely stand the weight of Pavlov's clinging to her shoulders, weighing her down, heart and soul.

By day she's terrified that someone will finally catch on and at night, the dreams ravage her like a plague. Christina see the _Bratva_ member lying dead on the carpet in her hallway, witnesses Pavlov's neck snapping in the clutch of Winter's metal hand over and over again. It's something she knows she'll never be able to unsee. When the Asset is away Christina can pretend. That she hadn't fallen for the enchanting blue eyes, the lost expressions, the gentle way he'd learned to handle her. She could pretend that she hadn't thrown away everything she'd believed in because she'd fallen in love with an assassin.

The first time Christina finds the opportunity to rendezvous with the Winter Soldier since his return, she nearly jumps at the opportunity. Finds herself going to the motions, following the same steps she normally would to sneak into the medical bay undetected and great him like a lover who'd returned from war. But, she catches herself. Comes to her senses, standing just outside the door. Twitching with longing, she finds her fingers reaching out on instinct. He's just on the other side, anticipating, knowing. But, she can't bridge the gap where her conscious comes seeping in with a furious vengeance.

In the end she leaves without entering the medical bay or seeing her soldier. Does she love him? Yes, maddeningly so. This had come to far to even attempt denying that now, but is doesn't mean she has to lose herself trying to fit into his life. She'd wanted to be good, wanted to make a difference, to be a voice for those who couldn't raise their own. Instead she caked blood on her hands and played god with lives that weren't hers— or Rumlow's— to mangle.

Christina spends the next two months telling herself that she can wipe the red from her ledger. And, by god's good graces does she try. She coddles her guilt by accepting sob-story cases, and volunteering at a women's shelter. It merely results in arguments with her team members and nearly getting arrested for following up to aggressively on a lead. Alexander Pierce has it swept under the rug, of course. But, it only fuels that fire in her belly that demands she do more.

In short, it leaves ringing in the first few nights of the new year with a hard drink, and not because of the holiday. Rumlow mentions she might have a problem, is channeling whatever she's been refusing to face with facing a bottle instead. Part of her knows that he's right. She's dodged every normal opportunity to see Winter because of the demons whispering in her ear and she fucking _misses him_. Aches for him. And, more than just between the thighs.

She curls up in her bubble bath with memories of washing his hair and kissing his lips. She tucks into bed at night with a pillow tucked close because she misses holding him there, misses the warmth of him curled into her side, and his breath puffing in her hair. Worst of all, she misses his eyes. Because she's seen them in passing at The Vault, and knows that he doesn't know what he'd done wrong. But, he should. A man is dead. A man she'd shot, a man he'd killed.

Christina can't stop thinking about it, it's always there curled around the base of her spine, whispering all his evils into her ear, and making her blame him. _This is his fault!_ She could have been a lawyer by now! Could have become Partner, could have been on her way to starting her own firm. Could have fought for people! Could have had a life! Could have found the right man and prepared to settle down. Instead she's a twenty-six year old PR Agent, who commits crimes weekly, and is having a secret, forbidden relationship with an assassin. She could have made a life for herself. A good life. But, the cherry on the top is burning emptiness that's nestled itself deep down in her gut, the loneliness that whispers Winter's name.

Exactly nine days later he turns up at her apartment the way he normally would. He hadn't found the opportunity before that, not with her odd behavior, and his missions abroad, and the vigorous rewriting he'd gotten in the Chair. But, he remembers her now and hopes that whatever had upset her had passed.

It hadn't, he discovers when she locks herself inside her bedroom closet. She can't be in the same room with him. Pavlov's death keeps replaying in her mind's eye and she can't stop the shaking. Christina stands locked in her walk-in closet, hyperventilating, trying to reign in the memory of Winter's cybernetic hand on her neck. She can't stop imagining him snapping it.

"I'm sorry," she sobs, stricken voice shaking the Winter Soldier to the core. He'd frightened her. She's never expressed any fear of him before. Plenty of others had, had screamed and ran in terror, had begged, and cried, and pleaded for their lives. But, not her. It hurts more than he'd expected it to, he thinks bitterly.

He can't move, can't form the words; can't speak. He wants to soothe her, kiss away her tears, and mold himself to her side. He's always kissed away her fears. What is there to do now that he's one of them? "It isn't you," Christina assures through her tears. And, it isn't. She'd known what he was, what he did from the very start. It's her that had changed. "It's _us_ together. I just can't pretend we didn't kill that man. That we were almost caught. That they might have _hurt you, might have hurt me!_ " Her sobbing begins to take over and he wants to bridge the distance between them, but he can only press close to the door and will her to _feel better_.

"We could have lost all of this and so we _killed him_ , Winter." He hears her crumble to the closet floor. " _How could I kill someone? How could I do that?_ " Christina cries, comes to pieces and there's nothing he can do to put her back together. He'd done this. It's his fault.

" _I_ killed him." He grounds out, feeling like his own tears could escape any minute. " _I_ got rid of him. _You didn't do anything wrong_." Winter tries to assure, wants her to see that she isn't to blame. That he should have prevented this, should have been more careful, should have known better than to think anything could really be _his_. Even he didn't belong to himself.

With his back pressed to the wood, he sinks to the floor. He listens to her shatter and longs to cut his fingers trying to piece her back together. He would do anything if just to hear her laugh, see her smile again. This is all his fault. "I don't know what to do," the Asset admits quietly, hears the bitter chuckle sound from the opposite side of the closet door. "Neither do I," Christina replies. He sits there until morning listening to his girl cry.

The Winter Soldier goes back to European operations for another four months, every few weeks of which he spends in cryogenic stasis. The rest of the time they have him running missions from Estonia, to Azerbaijan, to Slovakia and back. And, every damn country in between. The Russians run him the hardest, putting him under whenever they— or the other sectors— don't require him.

Every time he's taken out of cryo shakes him to the core. He's gotten used to the D.C. sector's routines, but worst of all he's gotten used to Christina. After each mission he finds himself reeling, itching to slink away to her apartment and lose himself in the comfort of his lover. Of course no such thing could be accomplished when on an entirely separate continent, perhaps not even if he were back in DC with her, thanks to their current fallout.

Those one-hundred-and-twenty days go far too slow for the Asset, even being frozen as often as he is. He hates the Russian sector, he detests the cold Eastern European weather— he longs for Washington D.C.'s spring— he misses Christina. He wouldn't admit that out loud, probably not even to her.

Things had changed. At the beginning the sex had driven him, the promise of something warm; something new— now he longs for more than the comforts of her flesh can offer. He wants the home cooked meals, the bubble baths and fingers tangled in his hair, the late night food truck runs, but most of all he wants her.

The ache makes the cold, dead Soldier inside of his furious. He's the Asset, a weapon, the _hound_! Machines don't want, machines don't long. Wolves don't lose sleep over the opinion of sheep. Yet the Winter Soldier won't hesitate to roll over on his back like a damn dog if it were for Christina Pierce.

The Soldier comes to The Vault as cold as a Russian winter, but D.C.'s spring warms him to the core, along with the promise of seeing his girl. Months had eaten at him, the chill of cryo buried deep in his bones made him miss the warmth of her. He comes that spending four months apart from him had helped to settle her stormy heart.

True to his hopes, Christina had missed him more than she's proud to admit. One-hundred-and-twenty days had left her longing. Focusing on her work had been fruitless, all she could think of was how angry and ashamed at herself she was with how she'd treated him during their last meeting. She thought of Winter's voice through the door, soothing her even as she trampled all over his heart. He deserves so much better. Making him think he'd frightened her, running from him, rejecting him; she regrets every second of it.

It hadn't been him that frightened her, it's what she's willing to do for him that frightens her. Since Winter came into her life she's been crossing all the lines and Christina fears that her conscious won't be able to take the guilt of the things she's done. She's terrified of the lengths she's willing to go to in order to keep him.

When he's lead into the observation bay at gunpoint, she's right on the security teams tail, lying in wait for the right moment to sweep in and spill her heart. He deserves more than she can give. More than armed escorts and holding cells, more than a cold cryotube, but all she can give is herself. She hopes that can be enough.

It's nearly twenty minutes in when the doctors and the head scientist head off and Winter is ordered at ease. Christina slips through the side door the moment the coast is clear. The Asset turns his head to her, still fuzzy from the last time he was wiped, but the scent of her sweeps across the distance and attacks his sensory memory triggers— drags him back to other times he'd breathed her in and held her close. His pupils dilate, memories flooding into his head as the flashbacks recede.

Winter blinks, looks at her standing all self conscious on the other side of the room. "Is it still us?" He questions, having recalled the last time he'd come to her. _It isn't you_ , she'd told him, _it's us together_. Christina shakes her head frantically. She hadn't meant that, she hadn't meant to imply that the two of them were bad together. As the blonde crosses the distance between them, Winter slides off the examination table and stands at his full height before her.

Taking his metal hand in hers, Christina tangles their fingers. "I shouldn't have said that," she admits, "I didn't mean it that way. I—" the woman pauses, brows pinching in the effort to find the right words. Her free hand mimics the other and tangles her fingers with those of his flesh-and-bone hand. "I meant that it's— It's—" She sighs and leans up to kiss him. "I'm scared of me," confesses his lover. Winter doesn't understand.

Christina releases his hands to wrap herself around him, curls into the familiar comfort of the Winter Soldier's arms. Breathing into the curve of his neck, she releases a shaky breath. "I'm scared of how far I'm willing to go keep you. I shot Pavlov, Winter." Her tremors start in her arms and suddenly she can't start the shaking. "I've never done anything like that. I've never felt so fiercely for anything before. I've never been willing to kill for something. I just—" Tears escape the corners of her eyes, even as she wills them away. "—I just don't want to lose you. The idea of it made me shoot him and that scares me. I can't lose you."

Winter can understand her concern. Christina is a gentle girl. She has fire, but it's not violent. He'd made her that way. The assassin knows because he can relate. He'd kill for her. In fact he has. He'd do anything to keep her safe, do anything to protect her, no matter the cost. The probability that he'd projected on her is highly viable. Curling his arms around her waist, Winter her draws her up into his chest. "You're okay," he chimes softly. His sweet girl, she's a volcano half the time and yet she cries so easily. "No tears, doll." Winter soothes, rubbing her shoulders. He does what he does best, he holds her together.

The Winter Soldier being stuck back in cryo comes down hard on Christina. Having worked everything out, she really feels at a loss having him so close yet so far. The Cradle, as they call it, creeps her out. Seeing him kept in suspended animation truly breaks her heart, she can't even begin to imagine how it must effect her lover. He's taken out three weeks later, come June, and sent on a number of high priority retrieval missions— to retrieve a handful of top secret items.

In the mean time Christina conquers a minor assignment— involving the attorney general and his twenty-three year old wild-child's legal indiscretions— and spends her free time with Rumlow. It's a muggy summer evening, after a long and trying work day that she joins her friend for their usual beers and burgers. The blonde sits across from the S.T.R.I.K.E. commando, laughing over the movie they'd seen together prior— _Bad Teacher_ — and shooting their go-to drinks— Miller and Blue Moon. They stay long enough to watch the Dallas Mavericks defeat Miami Heat, 4–2, before calling it a night.

The pair climbs into Rumlow's Jeep Wrangler, his personal vehicle, which he'd recently begun driving on their nights out. Christina takes this as a sign the agent has become more comfortable with her, which is a relief. There were a few moments when she'd worried he was onto her and the Winter Soldier's relationship, that he befriended her solely to keep an eye on her, but as time went on his friendship appeared truly genuine.

Following the nine minute drive from the _Public Bar_ to Christina's complex, Brock sees her the twenty-six year old up to the safety of her apartment. He escorts her up to her floor, jesting in good nature about _wiping the floor with her_ during their next sparring session and biding her farewell at the door like a good buddy would. Christina closes the door behind him, taking off her heels and ditching her clutch on the entryway console as she always does.

She hasn't even bothered to flick on the lights. The apartment is pitch black and dead silent as she makes her way to the living room. Shuffling blindly to the nearest lamp, she turns it out and is barely able to contain the scream that escapes her. Sitting on her living room sofa is the Asset, in his usual leather tact gear. He looks almost grim.

One hand clutching her chest, she lets out a sigh of relief and struts over to the mini bar. Christina pours herself a glass of wine, tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife, as she hears Winter rise from the couch and cross the distance to her. Stoping just inches from her, she can feel the assassin's body heat radiating on her from where he'd come to a stop. "That was Rumlow out there." He says without question, he's postive.

Christina nods, turning to face him as she takes a sip from her glass, "He wanted to make sure I made it up safe." She replies plainly, sounding almost bored. Winter eyes are hard, more from caution than jealousy, but that's not how his lover reads it. "Just being a pal," the blonde tries to assure, but the assassin's expression remains dark. He crosses small distance between them, long toned legs eating up the space in a single step.

Taking the wine glass from her hand, the Soldier downs the remainer of it's contents, leaning down to speak into her ear as he places it back on the bar behind her. "He isn't your friend, doll. Rumlow wouldn't hesitate to betray you if he found of about this," the assassin gestures between the two of them. Christina knows that, she doesn't want to believe it, but she knows that it's a likely truth. Brock Rumlow is her friend, but he's steadfast and loyal; a true believer. He would never turn his back on Hydra, not for her, and certainly not for compromising their obedient hound.

A sick feeling settles in the pit of her stomach again, like it often has since she'd shot Agent Pavlov. Something whispers in her ear about the person she's become, how miserable and corrupt. If someone had told her this would be her future she would never have believed them. She feels hollow, even as Winter bridges the gap between them and kisses her mouth.

The Asset scoops her up, distracting her from the vile self loathing that had creeped in uninvited, as he sweeps her off to the bedroom. By the time they hit the mattress they'd already lost most of their clothing along the way; he'd torn off his jacket, removed her dress, and slipped out of his fatigues after tossing her on the bed. Lying on her back in plain nude and lace lingerie— that is more simple than she's usually known to wear— she looks up at Winter and suddenly feels nervous.

Her relationship with him has gotten strange since the incident with Pavlov. It's true that she loves him, that much she knows she can't deny— even though she hasn't said it to him. It's herself she's afraid of; how much she's changed, the things she's willing to do to keep him, all the lines she's crossed since he'd come into her life. Who would she be at the end of this all?

Removing her underwear, followed by his own, Winter climbs into bed with Christina. She pushes away the dark thoughts clouding her mind, reaching out to draw him in. Fear and doubt aside, the Winter Soldier is still a comfort to her. Having him close, knowing that he's safe and sound, having him _home_ is worth all the dread, and fretting, and self loathing in the world. She pulls the assassin down on top of her, fingers curling in his brunette locks as his mouth connects with hers.

Christina cups his cheeks, falling into the embrace of his skiss and whining when he pulls back to nip his way down her throat. Winter eases between her thighs, legs parting in wake of him, unfolding like a flower. "Gotta get in you," Winter groans, kisses her senseless as he eases between her folds.

"Yeah?" She makes to quip, but is stifled by her own moan. The assassin begins moving without pause, thrusting in long, smooth strokes. Something about the angle has everything lined up just right, has him shuddering, has her clawing his back and arching up to greet him needily. Winter is good about making Christina come undone.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she bucks up against him with each thrust. The Asset leans in, covering her torso with his own and swooping him to find her mouth again in a languid kiss. He pulls back, leaning on his left, down on his forearm and steadies his weight against the mattress, before clutching her chin in his flesh hand, forcing Christina's cerulean gaze to meet his own steel eyes.

The eye contact is intense but also devastatingly intimate. It makes those nerves curl in her gut again. Blinking and turning her eyes from him, her avoids Winter's stare even as he fucks her into the mattress. The Soldier remains steadfast, blue eyes baring down into hers with each precise thrust of his hips. Christina jolts with each thrust, her body moving up the bed with every powerful pump of his hips, and all the while his eyes never leave hers.

She's close, by the time she places a hand in the center of his chest and pushes him away. For a moment Winter is confused, nearly whines of the loss of her encasing him, until she turns over onto her stomach and yanks him back in. The eye contact is too much for her, too intimate— what with the recent hitch in their relationship— but that doesn't mean she wants to stop. The particular position isn't one they partake in often— he enjoys watching her face too much to take her from behind every time— but he's not opposed to it either, especially with how obviously his lover wants him.

With her knees digging into the mattress, Christina presses into all fours on the bed, ass in the air as Winter smears the head of his cock against her folds and pushes back inside. The blonde whines, body jolting under the weight of his thrust, back arched as he rams his hips in deep, rough plunges. Winter groans, moving his hand from it's place on her rear and bringing it around to the center of her chest, his wide palm covering her clavicle and the base of her neck. "God _damn_ ," hisses the Asset into her ear, buried deep in her as he leans over to kiss her shoulder and the side of her neck.

The Winter Soldier quickly brings her back to the peak she'd been at before, easily winding her up like toy. Before she knows it, Christina is panting and keening, each of Winter's thrusts bringing her closer and closer to that edge. Her arm comes up to cup his jaw, head turning to meet his mouth in a desperate kiss, in turns the hand on her chest comes up to cup her cheek.

Her eyebrows furrow, the coil in her belly curling taut inside her as he drives into her faster. The assassin pulls back from their kiss, pressing his forehead to the side of hers and keeping his hand anchored on her cheek. Winter's mouth screws up, brows pinching as he growls, pounding into her in rapid succession. Despite his speed of his hips, he's still able to poke fun at her. "You gonna come for me, doll?" Comes his gravel voice, resounding huskily, lips brushing hers and he speaks. She's only able to whimper and nod in response, so close to orgasm, only a few thrusts away. Her eyes clamp shut and her mouth falls open as her lover slams into her and pushes her right over that edge.

Christina's climax crashes over her like a wave, Winter buries himself deep and grinds into her, slamming into his own orgasm almost simultaneously. A chorus of strained moans fill her silent apartment, followed by coarse Russian cursing from the Asset. She trembles, collapsing under the weight of the assassin pressing down on her, spilling inside her as he falls apart for her. Her thighs are slick with his come and sweat has settled on both of their skin as they lie together in an exhausted heap.

When the euphoria has ebbed off, Winter rises from his spot lying half on the bed, half on top of Christina. He fetches his boxers, donning them before disappearing into the master bath to fetch a towel. Drying his sweat, he brings the towel to his lover, allowing her to do the same as well as clean up the semen spilled between her legs. When she's finished, she lies on her back on the bed, lighting up a cigarette for the first time in weeks and staring up at the ceiling as she takes a drag from it. Winter is perched at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and his back facing her as they sit tense silence.

Christina holds in her sigh, turning her stare from the roof down to her lover's back. She knows she's being difficult, even turning over in the middle of sex to avoid his gaze was certainly a low blow, but she's having trouble shaking the dread rooted inside her. It isn't his fault, nothing he's done has been anything different. It's merely having to face them that had shaken her. She's always what the Winter Soldier does, but seeing it, having a hand in it. Or worse, becoming numb to it; that strikes fear in her core.

Winter sits up, a hand coming up to push his hair away from his face. He sighs quietly, almost shrugging before finally addressing her. "Are we going to be okay?" Questions the assassin, not turning to face her for fright of seeing her expression. He feels like everything could fall to pieces and it truly distresses him. He's grown accustom to her, has come to treasure her quirks and how easily she excepts him as he is— even with all the blood all his hands. Winter can't imagine going back to a life without her.

Christina sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed and curling her arms around his shoulders. Pressing a kiss to the base of his neck, she nods, curling around him and trying to comfort him. She can feel his distress, feel him pulling away in fear of being abandoned. "Yes," she assures, kissing his jaw affectionately. They'll make it through this. "We will be, _in time."_

* * *

 _So, we made it through not only relationship troubles, but also a total of eight months in this chapter. We ended this chapter in late June of 2011, which moves us up in the timeline considerably. We've got a lot coming in chapter 19, some of which will be minor— but important— details and some will be very important. We were able to knock out those relationship issues, but Christina's troubles will unfortunately continue. Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Closer and closer to 2012, everybody. What kind of things to you think I have coming for our couple? Let me know your thoughts!_


	19. No Beast So Fierce

_I don't own Marvel._

* * *

 _A fourth update, four weeks in a row? I'm doing quite well on this consecutive updating thing. *pats self*_

 _Christina's gonna make a bit of a spiral in the chapter, poor thing, but she'll get it together I promise. We're gonna get in gear for the end of this story soon, who's excited?_

* * *

 _"We've all done things to survive. There are such sins at my back it would kill me to turn around."_

* * *

The sound of rhythmic thumping and the squeaking of leather fills Christina's apartment. The Winter Soldier is crowded over her, fucking her into the sofa in broad daylight. It's a rarity for him to be out during the day time, missions that occur before nightfall are as sparse and infrequent as a blue moon. So, the chance to catch his girl on her lunch break and be able to see her under the sunlight— he jumps at the opportunity.

Being startled by her lover showing up unannounced in the middle of the afternoon, had never happened before. She wasn't even sure how he'd gotten in, after all he couldn't scale the fire escape to her apartment in broad daylight. Yet somehow she comes out of her bathroom only to find him hunched over on her sofa, effectively startling her, but it's worth the surprise.

Half an hour later and they're on round two and Christina has never had more fun. There's something about daytime sex— the sudden initiation, the rushed feeling— that makes it all the more appealing. Especially with the way Winter's plowing her into the sofa, has her back arching and her toes curling. She keens into the curve of his neck, fingernails raking over his shoulders and back, coming down to squeeze his ass roughly.

She can hear Winter chuckle, feels his breath puff over her jaw and her throat, until he leans in to kiss her collarbone. "Always so sweet for me, darlin'," he murmurs, sucking a hickey into the base of her neck. Christina groans, gripping tighter to him as he finds that spot inside of her that has her falling apart. "Oh, _god_!" She keens, her nails digging into his skin and her hips meeting him thrust for thrust.

No space is left between them, Winter's face buried in her neck, lips brushing against her skin as he listens to her gasp and whine, he's glad that she's close, because he isn't sure he can hold out very much much longer. Lucky for him Christina is right on the brink of orgasm. Overwhelmed by every roll of the assassin's hips, his body crowded over, his hot breath falling across her neck; all it takes to push her over the edge is his thumb coming down between them and rubbing her clit.

"Winter, I-" Christina is cut off by her own orgasm, her vision going blank, and her back arching off the sofa. The assassin grins smugly, groaning at he feels her pulsing around his length, pulling him over into his own abyss of pleasure. Winter tenses, burying himself deep, and emptying into the warmth of her. Winter's flesh arm turns to jello under the weight of the blinding orgasmic bliss, half collapsing on her, part of his weight still being balanced on his metal arm. With the assassin molding over the top of her, lying his head against her shoulder, Winter and Christina take a moment to wallow in the post-orgasm euphoria.

The both of them are completely exhausted, worn out from their dual afternoon quickies— the woman is always surprised by how many times the Asset is able to make her come. Eventually Christina has to nudge him off of her, his considerable size to much for her to support, even lying half way upright on the couch. The blonde casts a glance at her lover, taking in the hair clinging into his sweaty forehead, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he catches his breath. She doesn't even notice she'd been staring until Winter speaks up.

"What?" The Winter Soldier questions, sending raising an eyebrow in something between confusion and challenge. Christina merely blinks, grinning fondly before leaning over to lie against his chest. "Nothing," assures the twenty-six year old. "It's just that I've been thinking about you all morning and then you show up here," she explains, "Funny timing." Winter seems to agree, a smirk quirking his smug mouth as he chortles, turning her face to allow him to kiss her. He watches her face flush when he pulls away, the pink spreading from her cheeks down her neck and chest, before she hides it by nuzzling against his throat.

The post-sex cuddling only lasts for a good fifteen minutes before he casts a glance at her clock and realizes the time. It's nearly 3 PM by now and he only has until 1600 hours to report to the extraction location. With a muted sigh the couple sits up, donning their clothes and bidding each other a length and intimate farewell. Christina watches him go with a heavy heart, partly from the constant dread that'd made a home there and half from knowing she's sending him off to return to his cryotube. She misses him already.

Instead of the Cradle, he's sent somewhere worse— at least in his lover's opinion. Only a day later he's transported back to the Middle East and the southeastern most regions of Europe and the Mediterranean. Christina hates it, even worse that she isn't able to see him off. So she tries to throw herself back into work. Focuses on _fixing_ , as her job calls for. The weight of it all jumps starts her right back into drinking, almost as if she hadn't been sober for a little over a month. Deja and the rest of her friends are quick to take notice of it, even Rumlow expresses some concern.

The cherry on top is the discovery of one Owen McFarland's body, a man who'd gotten in the way their cases a little more than a year prior. His body had been discovered a state over, washed downriver in what appeared to be a drowning case. Still an investigation is opened, which is a whole can of worms for Christina, considering he's someone she'd asked Agent Rumlow to _take care of_. But, she certainly hadn't meant _kill_ him when she'd said it. He never admits to doing such a thing, but the question resonates between them unspoken. How many people had lost their lives because she'd asked for Rumlow's help.

The pending investigation, the presence of detectives snooping about— sticking their nose in her business— has her going stir crazy. She can't go to her father's, not with the people constantly going in and out of his house which would certainly draw attention, and she definitely can't go to The Vault. Going into a bank for hours on end and disappearing without a trace? That would definitely raise suspicion. Even meeting Rumlow for their routine evenings were out of the question, lest the detectives decide to follow him too. After three days cooped up between work and her apartment, she decides to entertain herself in other manners.

"Christina G. Pierce," the blonde identifies, displaying her guest I.D. to the security guard shortly after entering the Triskelion— the primary S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters located on Theodore Roosevelt Island, dead center in the Potomac River. She's been here before, on numerous occasions, usually visiting her father or grabbing lunch with Brock. Most importantly those annoying detectives couldn't follow in here and stick their noses in her business. The guard— newer, one she's never seen before— looks like he's about to say something, contest her entry even, before an entourage of people make their way through the entrance of the building cuts off whatever he intends to say.

Leading the group is Alexander Pierce, followed his assistant, and his personal security team. A gaggle of scientist and agents are also present. He pauses for only a moment, noticing the blonde standing at the checkpoint. "Morning, daddy." Christina greets with a smile, a satisfied twinge bubbling in the pit of her gut as she watches the guard's face screw up. The Secretary to the World Security Council removes his glasses, glancing to said guard before waving her over to join him, "Come along, sweetheart." The pair, along with Pierce's entourage, make their way through the security bypass gate and file into the elevator with their destination set for her father's office.

July 19th of 2011 proves to be a day that'll be printed in history books, Christina learns. It's the day that scientists in the Arctic uncover an old, frozen aircraft and turn the wreckage over to S.H.I.E.L.D.— only for them to discover it to be an advanced World War II era bomber plane, the HYDRA vessel named _The Valkyrie_ and the what was considered to be the final resting place of _The World's First Superhero_.

Captain America is found frozen in a slab of ice, buried in the frozen wreckage where _The Valkyrie_ had landed sixty-seven years prior. But, that isn't the most amazing part, he's still _alive_ , had been preserved in suspended animation. Christina doesn't no whether or not the later is released to the public, but news of the discovery quickly hits the airwaves and has not only archaeological community, but the historical, scientific, and military communities as well abuzz with the news.

Alexander Pierce is tucked away in his office the entire day, ignoring his daughter as he takes calls, asks numerous questions, and speaks to dozens of scientists. It seems that like the Winter Soldier, Captain America could withstand the sub-temperatures of cyrostasis thanks through the Super Serum coursing through him— or in his case the literal freeze of the Arctic.

At the end of the day, he dismisses Christina into Rumlow's care to board a plane for New York City, where he would personally see to the _defrosting_ of Captain America. She overhears a scientist say it could take a while, months in fact, to ease _The Greatest Soldier in History_ back into consciousness— maybe longer to have him up and running around. Her father looks relieved, but that doesn't surprise her. After all, it doesn't spell good news for Hydra, knowing the sole being who'd brought them to their knees may still be alive and well.

The months go by maddeningly slow for Christina, what with work, and the McFarland investigation, the surveillance, and most of all missing Winter. She spends more time at the Triskelion, more time with Brock and her father. And, when she isn't there she spends more time with with Deja than she has in years— it's good for their relationship, but not for her conscious.

Ever since graduation they'd grown apart. They'd become different people. Deja's still good, all righteous and brimming with the air of justice to her. Christina feels she's long since lost that air; with Hydra, and the firm, and Winter. Deja's still all the things she'd wanted to be once upon a time. She'd become an attorney of a grand firm, traveled the world, gotten engaged to her boyfriend, Aarav. She'd done all the things Christina has once seen herself doing. But, most of all, Deja is still good. There's no blood caked on her hands, no red paints her ledger. She's still good, and happy, and _free_. All the things Christina wishes she could be.

It all starts with the lying. That's were the spiral digs it's roots into the core of her. It'd been making it's home in her head and her heart long before she'd started working for the firm, before she'd befriended Rumlow. It'd started before graduation, before falling in love. She'd begun to feel hollow, and empty, like she was lying to the world. Only it hadn't gone away.

She thought she'd filled it. With soulsearching, with working at Valkyrie Consultants, with making friends, with falling in love with the Winter Soldier, with grueling training sessions, and impeccably rewarding sex. But, she hadn't only managed to put a bandaid on it, leaving it to fester unattended.

"Aren't you gonna get that?" Deja questions over their early dinner at _The Bombay Club_. Christina pushes her lemon rice around on her plate, glancing at her vibrating cell phone on table. Brock Rumlow's name flashes over the screen along with a selfie of them taken at the _Public Bar_ from one of their beers-and-burgers nights. For some reason, she doesn't want to answer. She wants to believe that he hadn't killed Owen McFarland, but what other explanation could there be? Suicide? Not likely, he'd been a rude, prideful man. He didn't have it in him. She sighs, shaking her head.

"Lover's spat?" Deja jokes, but it makes Christina go stiff, rubbing her all the wrong ways. Sure, she and Brock are close, and he's good looking, but she's over the moon for a different, deadly Hydra agent. "It's not like that," She nearly hisses, trying not to sound as offended as she feels, "He works for my dad." Her friend laughs and teases that it isn't something that should stand in their way. _That_ makes Christina drink too.

A week later she's back at the Triskelion, doing this week's training session with Brock in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility. The sparring is hard, agent or not, he'd long since stopped going easier and is happy to admit that she still fairs pretty well against him regardless. _No pain no gain_ , he'll tell her whenever he gets a little too rough. Luckily she gives as hard as she gets, after all _order only comes through pain_. Rumlow's pretty proud of her.

Her phone rings mid-session and she calls for a timeout. Stepping aside to take her call, she flops down on the mat, presses answer, and presses the phone to her ear. "Morning, Dey." She calls, breathing in heavy, shallow breaths. It's her best friend on the other line, who only pauses to reply her greeting before jumping in to _insist_ upon them _getting the old crew together_ for Christina's upcoming twenty-seventh birthday. Frankly, Christina is only half listening. She's exhausted from training and Deja has far too much energy for nine o'clock in the morning.

But, on and on the woman goes, barely allowing the blonde to get a word in before he's finally silenced by the noise on Christina's end. "Come on, Chris!" Brock's voice echos over the rhythmic thumping of other agents knocking around punching bags and the loud footfalls of people running on the treadmill. He walks over to her and taps her on the shoulder, "Think you can go another round?" He teases and over the phone Deja squeals.

"Ooh _girl_ , I better let you go so you can _get at it_." She laughs, mostly likely completely misunderstanding. "I'm _at the gym_ ," the fixer hisses into her cell, "That's my _trainer_." She's met by only Deja's giddy laughter, Christina huffs in mock-anger. " _Sure it is_ , Chrissy! Then get to training, girl!" Then she hangs up without another word. After the final round the blonde checks her messages only to find Deja's made them lunch reservations.

"Spill," Deja insists, believing that no matter what her best friend says, Christina has a new fling and hasn't shared it with her. This of course is way off. The blonde thinks that contrary to popular belief, men and woman can indeed to simply friends; plain, platonic friends. Deja isn't buying it. "I told you, Brock's my trainer!" She groans, covering her eyes and downing more wine before their food has even arrived. _There goes not day-drinking._

"Hold up, Brock? As in lover's spat Brock? Agent, who's calls you aren't taking, works for your dad, Brock?" the brunette questions challengingly, one eyebrow raised. "He can't be your trainer," she insists, "I thought he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent." Christina rolls her eyes, washing down more wine. "He is. He's also teaching me self-defense along with Agent Wagner. My dad insisted."

Deja sighs, nodding almost in disappointment before quirking up again, "So _Agent Wagner_ , huh?" she teases, onto the next one without so much as a beat. The blonde groans, finishing the contents of her glass, "Yes, Dey. _Sofia_ Wagner." Christina clarifies, trying not to feel to exasperated. This is just how Deja is, or at least how she'd become since she'd started dating her now-fiancé. She's really happy with Aarav and wants her best friend to find that kind of happiness too.

Deja shrugs, "Hey, ya never know, Chrissy! It ain't no thing, you do you." This time she's able to make Christina laugh. "As lovely as she is, Sofia's not my type. Like you said, I've got a thing for brunettes and blue eyes. Agent Wagner's a blonde."

That night is another _beers-and-burgers night_ and now that she's no longer under surveillance, she's ready for a night out. More for the beer than for seeing Rumlow, to be honest. Deja thinking that something was going on between them rubbed her the wrong way. But, he'd never made a move on her or shown any signs he wanted anything more than friendship. For that, she's grateful.

Beer and burgers go over well, as they always do. They watch sports, talk tv shows and work, which opens up a whole can of worms. "If you don't love it, why don't you apply at S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Brock questions, "Most everybody recognizes you around the Triskelion and I'm sure your dad could hook you up with a non-field position." Christina's shaking her head before he even finishes his sentence.

"I can't do the whole double agent thing, Brock. Living a lie is hard for me even now." She admits, sipping at her Blue Moon. "When my friend called while we were in training? I mentioned you once, now she thinks you're one of the guys I'm seeing." Rumlow outright laughs around the bite he'd taken of his burger. "Well, aren't I? I mean, we're seeing each other right now, aren't we? With our eyes?"

His joke is good natured but it makes her insides crawl, makes her want Winter home, but she feels a little better seeing the way he's shaking his head as he continues to eat. Christina shakes her head too, taking a bite of her own burger. "Besides," she starts, "Working with my dad? No, thank you." Rumlow nods along, full out chuckling as he raises his glass to clink with hers. "Well, I can agree on that."

Christina's twenty-seventh birthday is considerably uneventful, at least in her opinion. She gets up at the crack of dawn and shows up at the Triskelion like she would any other day, totally forgetting that she isn't meeting Rumlow today due to the fact it's her birthday. She's still able to find him there, knocking around a punching bag on the far side of the training room. Brock's a little surprised to find her there, but joins her on her run regardless and invites her out to brunch at Founding Farmers on Pennsylvania Ave.

They go their separate ways afterwards. She spends the rest of the afternoon at her father's with her aunts and and cousins, waiting for Alexander Pierce to return from a mid-day conference. They end up meeting him for an early dinner at Marcel's, where Christina has one too many glasses of Rosé. After dinner she's escorted home to her apartment where she holes up with friends, Deja and Paola— picking out her outfit for her birthday bash.

Christina finally settles on a shift dress— with a round neckline and boxy shoulders, fully lined with mirror embellishments— and her go-to silver heels. The party is meant to be held at the Rock & Roll Hotel's rooftop deck and bar, and everyone from her university colleagues to her coworkers will be in attendance, but the birthday girl is still wishes she'd be getting one extra— metal armed— guest.

As promised the rooftop deck, which often holds concerts and various other celebrations, is chalk full of patrons in attendance of Christina's birthday celebration, from fellow Georgetown alumni to current Valkyrie Consultants colleagues. It's an overwhelming turn out, considering it isn't a mile stone— she's only turning twenty-seven. She spends the night making small talk, having too much to drink, and telling lie after lie.

Which isn't a very big deal at first, they roll off her tongue as easily as the truth would, until she's had six glasses of questionable party punch and she sees an old flame strolling up like he owns the place. Lance Harrison saunters toward her with sweet Tanya— one of Christina's coworkers at the firm— on his arm. Lance is a blast from the past the birthday girl isn't expecting, after all they hadn't ended on speaking terms.

Said ex-boyfriend is (was) the typical alpha male; good looking, confident (overly so, in her opinion), competitive, and non-reactive. They'd been a good match, back in the early years of university when they'd both been hungry and brimming with ambition. Christina had been the hot, wealthy, well bred, freshmen. Lance had been the straight forward, risk taking, upperclassmen. He'd walked the walk, talked the talk, he took chances and didn't crack under pressure.

They'd been a power couple— him, coming from a line of Secret Service staffers— her, the World Security Council Secretary's daughter, with ambitions of becoming the future A.D.A. Everyone was sure they would take the world the short hairs and make it their bitch. Back then the world bowed at her feet, then the Winter Soldier had been swept into her life and it had all whirled away.

Years had passed, Lance having become a Public Affairs Specialist for the Secret Service and Christina, likewise, a PR specialist for a Crisis Management Firm. They'd imagined more of their futures and yet there they stand on equal ground, except one thing; Lance had gotten married. The birthday girl curses herself for not considering it sooner, she'd known Tanya's surname to be Harrison after all, but the world she thought she'd owned had crumbled around her and revealed itself to be a lie.

Now she's a single twenty-seven year old with little to show in the manner of growth; blood on her hands and red in her ledger. And, Alpha-Male Lance senses that whisper of self-doubt and hounds upon it. "It's a small world after all," announces the brunette man, in a sing-songing voice, a lopsided smirk plastered on his smug face. Christina wonders how she'd ever loved her once. "It's been a long time, Pierce. Imagine my surprise when Tanya tells me who's party this is!"

The birthday girl resists the urge to roll her eyes, watching him play the party like a stage. "You know my husband, Lance, right Chris?" The sweet woman questions, though Christina is sure she knows the answer. Tanya Harrison is a lovely woman, how she'd come to marry a man like Lance, the blonde can't possibly fathom, but she imagines they'd met thanks to work. After all most people tend to know each other in the same line of work.

"You know, I couldn't believe you were working for Valkyrie when I found out! You were so set on becoming an assistant district attorney! Guess you weren't cut out for it? Never took you for the _fixer_ type." The part of Christina that has been wallowing echos true inside of her at hearing someone say it aloud. Christina is barely able to make a playful quip— "And, I never thought you cut out to be the husband type, but here we both are, huh?"— before excusing herself.

How could she have been cut out for it? She's a champion for cheaters and liars now! She buries the truth, not uncovers it! She gets rid of lose ends and rewrites all the stories! When had she ever been a _champion for justice_? Christina chases away those voices with alcohol and when they get louder, she chases their screams with more. It's nearly two o'clock in the morning, the party still going on fine without her, when she finds herself dizzy, sticky and slumped over in the stairwell and fumbles for her cell phone.

It rings three times before she hears Rumlow's tired mumbling on the other line. "This better be good, Pierce," he grumbles in the dark. Christina exhales, holds her face in her hands— finding vomit residue on her chin as she does— and then whines into the receiver. "Brock," she mewls, sounding strange. "I feel funny. I feel like a rotten egg," she slurs, making little sense. The commando sits up in bed, "Where are you, Christina?"

The woman glances around, taking in the dimly lit stairwell and her shoes discarded on the landing beside her. "I dun know," comes her garbled reply, he hears her cough and then inhale shakily. "It's dark... There's stairs. I think I'm at my party," mutters the birthday girl rather unclearly. She slumps sideways, heaves stomach acid on the side of the steps. "Brock, I don't feel good. Can you come get me?" Is all she's able to ask before everything goes black.

Christina startles awake at Howard University Hospital seven hours later, dressed in a cotton gown, with an I.V. drip in her arm and a breathing mask over her face. She's dizzy, thirsty, and confused. Deja and Aarav are seated a few feet from her bed, all exhausted and bleary eyed, jumping into action when they notice she's awake. Her best friend's cheeks are tear stricken and her makeup is smudged as she pushes the blonde back against the mattress, attempting to get her to settle down. Aarav disappears to notify her nurses.

As Deja pours Christina a glass of water, Rumlow marches into the room. Face stern and arms crossed almost angrily. His normally trim appearance is amiss, his orderly coiffed hair awry, still dressed in the sweatpants he'd worn to bed and a tee shirt he'd thrown on in his haste to rescue her. Brock made it to the Rock & Roll Hotel in record time, shouldered his way through security and up the stairs. He found Christina, unconscious, slumped over on the third landing a few feet away from a puddle of vomit. Sodden in a cold sweat, her breathing shallow, her pulse weak, and her skin ice cold to the touch.

"What happened?" She finally manages to ask, voice raw and quiet. She accepts the water from Deja as Rumlow sits down beside her. "You had alcohol poisoning," glowers her friend, clearly pissed off. "They didn't have to pump your stomach or give you a breathing tube, but damn it Chris! I warned you to watch your drinking. What's with you lately?" Brock begins to lecture, pretty angry at her lack of self-control.

Christina hears him, can tell he's worried over her, but her focus ebbs off the longer he speaks. "Your father was here earlier and he was pissed. I texted his security team a moment ago, he's gonna be here in about ten minutes." Informs the commando, rubbing his tired eyes. "You've gotta finish that I.V. bag and let a doc check you over, and then they're going to send you home. Boss wants you at his place."

So to her father's house she goes. Christina takes a few days off from work after, lies in the spare room at her father's house for hours upon hours, upon days. She skips training sessions and morning runs, and wallows in self-pity. Until the Winter Soldier returns from his intercontinental escapades and she's reminded of her importance in his routine.

She first sees him again in early October and is glad to have him back. Falling back into their old routine of sneaking around is second nature now and Christina wastes little time in stealthily approaching him for another heated rendezvous. Showing up in the holding bay between shift changes while the Winter Soldier is ordered on standby. He looks pleased to see her when she eases open the door enough to slip through and then seals it behind her.

The assassin is on his feet before she even has the door closed, honing in on her instantly and gathering the pretty blonde in his arms. Flesh and metal hands cups her face and he leans in to greet her with a kiss. When she shrugs out of her blue wrap coat his lover seems thinner than when last they'd met, her tone a little washed out and her eyes tired. She seems more frail than the Asset is used to her being, but it only makes him all the more considerate, helping her out her black sweater dress and her knee high boots.

Winter rids himself of his leather and fatigues, joins Christina on the worn mattress in nothing but his boxer briefs, eyes hungrily taking in her own pretty underwear. He admires the simple yet cute design of blue with white polka dots and lace, fingers the little bow in the center of her bra before palming her breast. She's so pretty, and eager, and happy to see him again. The Soldier understands the sentiment, his missions had barely been able to distract him from the maddening longing for his blonde haired, cerulean eyed lover.

" _Ya skuchal po tebe,_ " Winter murmurs into her skin, huddled over her on the tiny twin mattress. Christina knows that phrase, she'd learned it almost as soon as she'd began practicing Russian, she'd merely never found the courage to say it herself. Tangling her fingers in his brunette locks, she directs his mouth back to hers, kissing him fiercely. "Missed you too, _daragoj_." The new pet name has the assassin coming apart at the seams.

Winter moans, tongue wrestling with hers as he hurriedly yanks off their underwear. Christina sighs contently, pinned under the Asset as he parts her legs and strokes his length between her thighs. His eyes bore down into her own, the steel blue of his irises barely a thin ring around his dilated pupils. Easing between her folds, her lover groans, leaning down to kiss her when he bottoms out. " _Fuck,_ " she whimpers, her nails raking down his back and coming down to clutch at his ass.

The assassin loves the way she kisses him all needy, hands cupping his cheeks as he begins to pound into her. Starting slow and picking up speed with every thrust. Winter loves the way her body goes lax, boneless, and she lets him fuck her into the bed. Loves the way she lets him take and take and take. He kissed her deeper, his chest vibrating with a satisfied hum. Christina arches up off the bed, the pressure of an orgasm building inside her with each of the Soldier's precise thrusts.

"Fuck," grunts the assassin, crowding over her, slowing with the change of angle. Christina whines in protest, "No," she whimpers, "Faster, Winter. _Please, I'm so close_ ," Grinning the Soldier readily complies, fucking her at a punishing pace. Blood pumping in her ears, all she can hear is her racing heartbeat and her lover's groans as the coil in her pulls taut.

"Tell me you want it, _krasavitsa_." Winter growls, nuzzles her neck with her stubbled chin, " _Tell me you want me, darlin'_." And, _god_ , Christina does. She truly does. "Please, please. Want you so much, Winter. Want you all the time." Burying himself inside her deeply, he drowns in the feeling of her cunt spasming around his cock. Climax crashing over her as she too moves against him, hips jerking roughly as she rides out her orgasm, desperate to chase her high for as long as possible. Winter drinks the sound of your sobs, the tightening of her cunt around his cock. The combination of it all pulls him over the edge with her and he's suddenly coming too, growling into the curve of her neck, pounding his release into her.

After they've both come down from the mind numbing bliss of orgasm Winter mumbles into her hair, pulling her tight against him, his tired voice all molten honey. "I always need you when I'm gone, _solnyshka moyo_. Always want you, babydoll." That rings deep in Christina's mind, settling on her chest with a smothering weight.

Regardless of her own transgressions, all her guilt, and all her fears; she means something to Winter. So, she'll do right by him because he deserves _so much more_ than she can offer. When the new day dawns the Winter Soldier is put back in cryogenic stasis and Christina checks herself into rehab.

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
 _*Ya skuchal po tebe (я скучал по тебе) — I missed you/I've missed you_  
 _*Daragoj (Дорогой) — Love, dear, darling [Woman to man]_  
 _*Krasavitsa (красавица) — beautiful_  
 _*Solnyshka moyo (Солнышко моё) — my sunshine_

 _We're gonna get in gear for the end of this story soon! 2012 is coming in the next chapter and The Avengers is going to be occurring in the background. This edition of the series is going to be drawing to a close soon and we're going to pick back up in "Pomegranate Kin"! Who has any guesses on what I have coming for our couple?_

 _Let me know your thoughts! Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading!_


	20. From Eden

_Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, y'all!_

* * *

 _A/N: We're picking up this chapter in December of 2011. This is my Christmas/New Year's edition! Season's greetings to everyone reading regardless of whatever holidays you may or may not be celebrating! I hope that everyone has a great time as is able to end the year on a happy note! Thank all of you for reading and for sticking it out with me for this long. One or two more chapters to go and Part 1 is going to end! How are we feeling about that?_

* * *

 _Babe, there's something tragic about you_  
 _Something so magic about you_  
 _Don't you agree?_

 _Babe, there's something lonesome about you_  
 _Something so wholesome about you_  
 _Get closer to me_

 _No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony_  
 _No who cares, no vacant stares, no time for me_

 _Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_  
 _Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword_  
 _Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know_  
 _I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_

 _Babe, there's something wretched about this_  
 _Something so precious about this_  
 _Where to begin_

 _Babe, there's something broken about this_  
 _But I might be hoping about this_  
 _Oh, what a sin_

 _Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_  
 _Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword_  
 _Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know_  
 _I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_

 _Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_  
 _Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword_  
 _Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know_

 _I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door_

* * *

Kolmac Outpatient Recovery Center's ninety day residential treatment program is grueling in the manner that Christina _detests_ group therapy. Going to the sessions are a considerable waste of her time, because she knows she'll never get to the true nature of her problem. She can see how group therapy could help out her fellow rehab patients, able to spill all their fears and insecurities to people who understood them, who wouldn't judge them. It's healing, that much she understands. But, she can't do the same.

Christina can't tell the staffers and patients about Hydra, about the _Bratva_ , about the _fixing_ she does for Valkyrie, about the Winter Soldier. She can't tell them about the lying, about the blood on her hands or the weight on her conscious. In the end she tells only half truths— disappointment with the career path she'd chosen, insecurities about the lack of progress she'd made in her life since graduating— things like that. In the end, it's the daily education sessions that do her good. She learns to find what triggers her and turn to something productive to help her cope, in place of drinking.

She takes up recreational exercise and does pretty well thanks to it by the time she graduates from her treatment program in time for Christmas. Needless to say, her literal last minute shopping is near fruitless but she does get it done. She even manages to find a gift for the Asset— in the form of some lingerie she thinks he'd fancy on her, seeing as he isn't able to keep material items for his own. The _L'Agent by Agent Provocateur_ bra, panty, and garter belt set costs her a pretty penny, but splurging on cute underwear is totally okay in her books, especially when Winter seems to revel in it so much.

Christina spends Christmas Eve at a party at Deja and her fiancé's apartment with her closest friends, all of whom commend her for recognizing her own problem and swiftly addressing it. Everyone's glad for her swift recovery. The blonde is equally thankful. Getting a grip on her drinking troubles and her guilt alike had been tough, but each time she'd wanted to give up she'd thought of Winter. Of his smile, and his kiss, and the things he'd said the last time they'd met.

 _Always want you, babydoll_. It's comforting to know he shares her sentiment, missing her as much as she misses him whenever they're apart. She's also glad that Hydra doesn't take _holy_ _days_ into account when it comes to cold blooded murder, but evil never sleeps, she supposes. Either way, it allows her to see her lover, so she grateful for the opportunity, even if it means some poor sap will never join his family for the holidays.

She spends the entire evening thinking about home, about Winter, about when she'll be able to slink away from the gathering and meet up with her lover back home. Is he already waiting for her? Is he anticipating their evening as much as she is? Would he even show up? After all she'd been gone for nearly 3 months without so much as an explanation. Maybe he'd mistake that as her moving on. Christina couldn't be sure, it only makes her want the party to hurry along faster than it's already going.

Homemade eggnog is handed out— rum free for Christina and other alcohol free attendees alike. It takes away from the novelty of the Christmas party, but in exchange for being of sound body and mind, it's worth the dull lack of a helpful party buzz. At the very least she'll be able to meet Winter again as a sober woman, guilt and anxiety be damned. She's clean and that's all that matters, and for her lover's sake she's determined to remain that way.

Deja and Aarav wave the blonde and the rest of their friends over to the Christmas tree, it's time to exchange gifts. She receives an armful of generous gifts from her long time pals. She receives two novels and monogrammed stationary from Aarav, a Micheal Kors handbag and matching wallet gifted by Deja, a Scale of Justice watch from The Supreme Court Historical Society Gift Shop from Paola, and summer vacation airplane tickets to NYC given by Adam. All in all it's a happy little Christmas and Christina heads out around 11:30, a little earlier than some of their friends, but she attributes it to her drinking trigger and her friends send her off with merry holiday wishes and demands she let them know when she arrives home.

When she arrives home the Winter Soldier is seated on her sofa, the same way she's found him a thousand times before. He looks tired, troubled even, as he fidgets minutely where he sits. Christina shrugs out of her blazer, toes off her heels, and discards her clutch on a side table as she makes her way over to him. "Hi, handsome." greets the woman carefully, reaching out to cup his cheeks and settling in his lap.

Winter pulls her into him, briefly admiring her exposed belly button before swooping down and covering her mouth with his, not even bothering to reply to her greeting. He palms over her halter top, groping over the thighs of her skinny-fit trousers and fondling her ass through the red material. Tongues dancing and sliding over each other needily, the two kiss until the air trapped in Christina's has her burning with the need for oxygen. When they finally pull apart his cold, metal hand cups her cheek and stares at her.

"I came before," He offers quietly, steel eyes boring into hers with unreadable question, "You weren't here." The blonde frowns, cupping his face and pecking his lips apologetically. "I'm sorry, babe." She coos, "I was in rehab. I'm sick, but I'm getting better, I promise." The assassin's eyebrows furrow, he isn't sure of how she means. Had she been hurt? Was she ill? "You're going to be okay?" Questions the Soldier, his voice all gentle with concern. He watches his girl nod, blonde hair bouncing as she does. She leans in and kisses him once more before assuring, "I'm right as rain, honey."

Winter is content enough with that as Christina kisses away his worries, unbuckling his tac gear and unzipping his fatigues. The Asset follows suit, rushing to remove the cute little number she'd worn to the Christmas party. "You're looking well," he comments, unbuttoning her high waisted trousers. "You never wear red." Normally she dresses in cool tones; greys, navys, blues. Except for that burgundy coat she'd worn the first time she'd snuck into the holding bay and spent the night with him between shift changes.

His girl grins, "Reds aren't my color, but it's the holidays, ya know?" Jokes Christina, tugging off his tactical jacket. "Do you remember the last time you celebrated Christmas?" She questions and momentarily regrets it, his face goes blank, his eyes going off to somewhere long ago and far away. He remembers presents under a pitiful but still glittering tree, remembers rough wool stocks, remembers _Aww, Buck did ya really have ta—_ he's brought back to the present when two warm hands hold his face. Winter blinks, looks at his girl seated on his lap, tension scribbled on the furrows of her pinched eyebrows.

"I don't," he says, even though there'd been _something_. Christina nods carefully, kissing him in an attempt to distract his reeling mind. He sinks into the comfort of her soft mouth, her silken tongue, the gentle petting of her fingers threading through his hair. When she pulls back, a playful smile is painted on her cute mouth as she reaches up to unzip her halter top. "Well, I bought a gift just for you." Sings the blonde and pulls down the zipper to reveal her brand new lingerie.

Winter perks up at the sight of the black lace, the rose lacework, the scalloped edges, the little bows. He admires the material, something she'd gotten just for him, for only his eyes to see. A hunger settles in the pit of his belly, breeds a familiar longing in his core and makes him want to her like crazy. "You like?" Christina teases, leaning in and kissing his throat, provoking the lust burning in the assassin's belly. He nods wordlessly, fingers wandering to the delicate material and tracing it under his digits as her lips dancing along the length of his neck making in the direction of his ear. " _Ya khotela tebya ves den,_ " _I wanted you all day_ , admits his lover in a hot whisper along the shell of his ear. Winter all but snaps.

Christina finds herself hauled into his arms, legs secured around his waist as he lifts her and makes a bee line to the bedroom. The instant he slams the door closed, he sets her back on her feet, out of his mind with the eagerness to see the rest of her lingerie ensemble. Yanking her high waisted trousers down her thighs, he isn't disappointed when he's greeted by the sight of her little lace tanga and the matching garter belt and stockings. Winter drinks in the sight of her like a man starved— which isn't far from the truth for either of the pair, it'd been a long ninety days for both of them.

" _Ty takaya krasivaya moya dorogaya,_ " growls the Winter Soldier, collapsing to his knees under the weight of his unbearable awe for woman before him. " _I vse mo._ " How could someone so delicate, so beautiful, so wonderful ever feel something for a machine like him? How could so marvelous a creature like Christina Pierce, ever want someone like him? How had he become so lucky to have found a woman like her, to offer herself body and soul, regardless of who knowing the kind of person he is. The beautiful blonde is the only good in his solitary life and he counts his lucky stars every day he has her. Because he never knows when she could be gone. Would she finally see all the blood on his hands and run scared or would Hydra wipe him to the extent that every piece of her would disappear all together?

The Asset pushes those thoughts away, leans forward and let's his greedy mouth trace kisses down the length of her toned stomach. She's healthier now than when last he'd seen her, no longer frail, muscle having filled in the gaps where her ribs had been poking out before. The circles under her eyes are no longer sunken in and her washed out tone has evened out. She must really have gotten better, as she'd promised. He presses kisses over her belly, down her abdomen until he's stopped at the hem of her panties by her tangling her hands in his hair.

Guided by her hands, Winter glances up at her, meets her sparkling cerulean eyes with an curious, almost teasing look. She shakes her head with a playful grin and helps him back on to his feet, "It's your Christmas present, remember?" Christina insists, turning and backing him into her closed bedroom door. The assassin's knees go a little weak, watching his pretty blonde lover sinking down onto her own between his boot clad feet. A fire lights in his belly and has him melting inside as she pushes down his fatigues and boxer-briefs. He steps out of them as per her insistence, observes her unlacing his combat boots before he hurriedly kicks them off. Winter watches her staring up at him all big innocent eyes, despite being dressed in only her underwear, despite her soft hands reaching out to stroke his stiff cock.

The Asset's eyes roll back in his skull as her mouth joins in the pressure bobbing on his length, lips parting in wake of the strangled moan that rips from his throat. With one hand steadying him at the base, Christina brings her free hand to his scrotum and fondles his balls, grinning around his cock in her mouth as he let's out a cry. She swallows him down to the hilt and nearly has Winter falling to pieces when she pulls of of him. "No, no, doll. _Fuck_."

Christina grins up at him, all toothy charm and glowing radiance. "What do you need, babe?" She questions like she has no idea that she's about to making him explode. "Take what you want, Soldier." So, he does, guides her back onto his length and revels in the gagging sounds before she's able to get used to him filling up her throat. She lets her jaw go slack and looks up at him as he fucks her face. Watching his eyes go dark, the way he pants as he gives it to her without restraint, the way he moans obscenely when she swallows around him. She'd forgotten how easily him being rough gets her off, so with eager enthusiasm she reaches out for the metal arm and brings it down to her neck just like old times.

Winter's last straw is her teary eyes holding his gaze, the way she loves that weapon clenched around her windpipe, the way she reaches between her own thighs and fucking touches herself through her panties. A guy could lose his damn mind, and the assassin near does before he loses it all together, he's hauling her off the carpet and shoving her face first into the door. " _Fuck, darlin'. Best fuckin' present yet, babydoll._ " Winter says into her ear, yanking aside her panties enough to ease between her folds.

Squeezing her ass in his metal hand, Christina moans as he fills her up, all greedy and punishing the instant he gets inside. He's all thick and big and has her coming apart at the get go. It's got her all reminiscent of when he used to string her out so good on orgasms that blew her mind. He reaches around, pulls the zipper of her top all the way down to reveal her lace clad breasts, before he's tugging that down too and groping at her naked chest. "Shit, Winter. _Fuck me!_ " She groans, leans against the cool wood of the door as he pounds her cunt. And, oh, fuck her the Winter Soldier most certainly does.

Every one of his thrust hilts him deep inside her, makes her keen out and fuck back on his cock. She can hear her lover behind her, muttering dirty taunts into her ear and kissing kisses to her neck. The mindless mantra making her dizzy with the filth of his heated whispering. "Feel good, doll?" Questions the assassin, not even pausing to hear he answer, because he fucking _knows_. "Yeah, you like that, don't you, _krasavitsa_? You like it when I fuck you real good, ain't that right darlin'? You like that fat cock fillin' you up, don't ya, _dorogaya_?"

Christina nods unabashed, readily excepting every inch he offers, fucking back on his length, "Yeah," She whines, head rolling back onto his shoulder, even as he pounds her into the door. "I love it, _oh fuck_ , give it to me harder, babe I-" The head of Winter's length endlessly ramming against her g-spot has the blonde falling apart, " _A_ a _h_!" She cries, trembling and spasming on cock and dragging him along into orgasm after her.

"That's it, sweetheart." He moans, hilting his length deep inside and filling her up, "Come on my cock, babydoll. Such good a good girl, _dorogaya_." Winter reaches around to grip her chin, turning her head for a starving kiss over her shoulder. Mutual orgasms are supposed to be rare, even with as many times as he's brought her to completion they'd never finished together before this, so that fact that he follows her directly into climax makes her all the weaker for him.

The Soldier plasters himself up against her back, kissing her mouth, and cheek, and neck as her tight walls milk his length, the slick of his come spilling on her thighs. " _Merry fuckin' Christmas, doll_." He laughs under his breath, slumping against her frame. Panting against the door, she cracks open her eyes to peek at the assassin, who is equally exhausted. Furrowed eyebrows and soft, steel irises all raw with emotion bore into hers. Winter kisses her again, pulling her away from the door and toward her bed. The pair collapse on her mattress, boneless and spent, and curl into each other.

Winter chuckles to himself, kissing her sweat-slick skin and adjusting her pretty lingerie with his metal hand. " _Vy tak vazhny dlya menya,_ _solnyshka moyo_." The assassin tells her, holds her like she's a fragile, breakable thing. Christina's just glad that he's _home_ , but more than that she's glad she'd made it through rehab. She needs to be here for him, needs to prove that he's equally as important to her.

Christmas day falls into it's usually annual routine, but the blonde is grateful that at the very least, she's able to wake that morning with the Winter Soldier at her side. It's nearly 5 AM when he kisses her awake. It's still pitch black, even the sun is still asleep, when her lover has to depart. But, nuzzles his nose against her own, mouths meshing and tongue sliding against hers, before he resolves to fetch his clothes. He's due to report soon and is likely to be stuck back in cyro until his next assignment on the 30th, so Christina is even more sad to see him go than she usually is, but she sends him off with warming kisses and an almost content glow.

Afterwards the holiday goes as it always does. She discards her fancy lingerie, shrugs into lounge clothes and ties up her long hair is a lazy bun. She makes herself breakfast and gets a head start on the food she's bringing for the potluck which is always held at her father's, a tradition that hadn't died, even when her mother did.

Her father has never cooked, but she and her mother had bonded over the preparations. Long ago, they'd spend the entire evening of the twenty-third and most of the twenty-fourth getting ready for the Christmas day potluck. Her grandparents would come with their trademark meatloaf and apple pie, her mother would make the Christmas ham, her aunts would make various side dishes, and Christina would bake cupcakes every year from the moment she was old enough.

The older she'd gotten the menu had changed, eventually her grandparents passed away only seven months apart, so the meatloaf and apple became the responsibility of one of her aunts— the two of them rotating each year, but neither ever making it quiet as well as their parents had. Christina's fifteenth birthday marked the untimely passing of her mother and the Christmas ham became her annual duty. Eventually Christmas became the same as most of their family gatherings— herself, her father, his sisters, and their children, and their children's children.

Still, it's all but a formal event, and so she cranks out a top of the line ham and bakery grade cupcakes, as she does every year, and then hops in the shower to get ready for the party. Christina keeps her hair and makeup au natural in contrast to her dressy attire, quickly applying liner, mascara, blush, and matte lipstick, before doing her blonde locks in a tousled, rolled updo, accentuated by a pearled branch headpiece. She dons a red, off shoulder, crochet dress, her white folded collar coat, belted at the waist, and a pair of white heels.

At 11:10 on the dot one of her father's drivers turns up to retrieve her and help carry the food. Christina crosses her fingers, hoping that everything goes without a hitch, and that she doesn't spill anything on her white coat. She manages to arrive to the party without incident, joining her family right as the rest of them arrive. Her father greets his sisters, their daughters, and the daughter's husbands and children. A few extended cousins and their partners are present, as well as their children.

The entirety of the holiday goes as it always does, routine. But, sitting along side her happily married cousins, watching their doting husbands, Christina finds a part of herself wishing that Winter were like any normal man. So that she might invite him to their family gatherings and no longer have to lie about the lack of a man in her life whenever she's questioned on it. Frankly, she can admit to herself that she doesn't want anyone else. There was a time that she'd wanted other men, men she could display proudly without incident. Just a man that could be there for her would have done, but things were different now. No one but Winter would do. And, _god_ if that realization doesn't make her long for a drink. Bitterly, she sticks to sparkling cider and stuffs her face with horderves despite herself.

Lucky for everyone Christmas goes off without a hitch and soon New Years Eve is right around the corner. Christina is bristling with excitement for the holiday. Not only for Riverbash at the Washington Harbour, but also for the chance to see her lover for the first time in exactly seven days. She's been out of her mind for him since Christmas and nearly counting the seconds until she'll see the Winter Soldier again.

Every year since the start of university she and her friends attend the New Year's Eve party on the Georgetown Waterfront, the exact club or restaurant varies from year to year, but this time they decided to go with live music, an endless buffet and a top shelf open bar. It's worth the massive cover charge, even though she won't be drinking this year. Besides, she doesn't imagine she'll have to worry about spending all night with them anyway.

Just as she assumes she's whisked away from her friends sooner rather than later. Winter turns up, cornering the unsuspecting blonde beside the water fountain at Washington Harbour. She's between _Nick's Riverside Grill_ and _Tony and Joe's Seafood Place_ , blending right in with the bustling New Year's crowd. The Asset looks like any regular joe, if not a little under dressed for the party atmosphere, but at least he isn't decked out in his leather and fatigues— though she notes that his combat boots peek out from under his dark, jeans.

Christina takes in his appearance, the baseball cap, the crewneck tee shirt peeking from the neck of the faded navy sweatshirt he wears over it, the well-worn dark wash jeans covering his long legs, and the thick black coat that completes the ensemble. Winter looks good, down right edible in her opinion, and she quick to take him by the arm and lead him to the nearest deserted corner— as difficult as it is in the crowded waterfront plaza.

"Where'd you find the civvies, Soldier?" Questions the blonde over her shoulder, finally ducking them into a discrete hiding place, letting him back her up against the nearest wall. A shit-eating grin spreads over the assassin's mouth, all proud and smug as he answers, "Stole 'em." He tells her, breathing into the curve of her neck, his hand coming up to tuck back her blonde tresses and ease aside the black material of her turtleneck top.

Christina's all done up, dressed warm enough for the winter chill, but pretty enough for the occasion. Her hair is styled in a knotted, half-updo, the rest of her hair falling around her shoulders and down her back in loose, lovely waves. The Asset admires glittering eye makeup, which matches her outfit. Her gold asymmetrical skirt and her turtleneck, her black coat and her little heels. He wonders, briefly, if her feet might be cold, but then she's kissing him and distracting him and he can't ever resist her.

Eventually it is too cold, and she ducks them into a nearby public access door that leads to a number of corridors branching off for the luxury condominia, offices, retail space, restaurants, and underground parking structure. She leads Winter off to an unsurveilled area and tugs him into a family restroom. Locking the door behind them she's happy to shrug out of her coat as he places her up on the counter in a single, swift motion.

Despite the probably filthy restroom setting, they make due. He even manages to wrangle her out of her skirt and top, leaving her in only her matching lingerie and her high heels. He toys at the straps of her halter bralette, admiring the black lace set as she yanks off his coat and his tugs down his pants and boxers. Christina and Winter ring in the New Year with steamy, hot, unbridled bathroom sex, even as her cellphone rings on end an endless loop in her coat pocket on the floor.

At the end of the night she goes home with Winter in his unmarked vehicle and the next day she has to deal with Deja's endless scolding and questioning. _How did you get home? Why didn't you answer the phone? Who was the Tall-Dark-Handsome that you disappeared with?_ She doesn't tell, of course. But, Deja decides that whoever it was, at the very least he'd put her friend in the best mood she'd been in all year.

And, that New Year remains kind to them. It rings in it's first few months with numerous opportunities for gratuitous sexcapade interludes, whenever and wherever they please. Christina lets of all of everything holding her back from her lover, be it her guilt, or her fear, or her insecurities. There's nothing strong enough to separate her from the Winter Soldier now, or so she thinks.

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
 _*Ya khotela tebya ves den (Я хотела тебя весь день) — I wanted you all day_  
 _*Ty takaya krasivaya moya dorogaya (ты такая красивая моя дорогая) — You are so beautiful, my darling [sweetheart, dear]_  
 _*I vse moi (И все мои) — And, all mine_  
 _*krasavitsa (красавица) — beautiful_  
 _*dorogaya (дорогая) — darling, sweetheart, dear_  
 _*solnyshka moyo (Солнышко моё) — my sunshine_  
 _*Vy tak vazhny dlya menya, solnyshka moyo (Вы так важны для меня, солнышка моё) — You are so important to me, my sunshine_

 _A/N: Well here we are, 2012 has arrived and The Avengers is going to be occurring in the background of the next chapter. This edition of the series is going to be drawing to a close soon in about one chapter or so (maybe two?) and we're going to pick back up in "Pomegranate Kin"!_  
 _Also, I hope no one really expects The Avengers to be a big deal, because it's honestly so minute in this, it's really just the tiniest pawn that leads us to a larger stepping stone that some of you might not even really note in the second addition. That may be disappointing for some of you, though I hope it's not. The first part of this story is going to be ending very soon, but this isn't the end for Christina. Any guesses on what I have coming for our couple? Even an inkling? Some of you may not actually be that surprised tbh._ _Let me know your thoughts! Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you kindly for reading! Sincerely, Rachel._


	21. The Fall of Man (END of Part 1)

_I don't own Marvel. Or anything aside from Christina and anything you don't recognize._

* * *

 _Well here we are guys, end of the line! At least for part one anyway. It's officially the New Year irl as well as in this story; we made it to 2012! We're going to ring the year in with all kinds of new things, i.e. alien attacks and a little surprise at the end. The next update will be over at the second installment, "Pomegranate Kin" will be comin' at ya soon! Are you reading for this ending?_

* * *

 _"Over the still world, a bird calls_  
 _waking solitary among black boughs._

 _You wanted to be born; I let you be born._  
 _When has my grief ever gotten_  
 _in the way of your pleasure?_

 _Plunging ahead_  
 _into the dark and light at the same time_  
 _eager for sensation_

 _as though you were some new thing, wanting_  
 _to express yourselves_

 _all brilliance, all vivacity_

 _never thinking_  
 _this would cost you anything,_  
 _never imagining the sound of my voice_  
 _as anything but part of you—_

 _you won't hear it in the other world,_  
 _not clearly again,_  
 _not in birdcall or human cry,_

 _not the clear sound, only_  
 _persistent echoing_  
 _in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—_

 _the one continuous line_

 _that binds us to each other."_

* * *

Christina falls into 2012 renewed; begone her inhibitions, farewell her doubt, so long guilt. She returns to the girl who wrangled the earth on a leash, walk it like her pet pitbull on her choke-chain. She's all but ready to rule it all, like the queen of spitfire and brimstone she'd been once, in another life. Except this time she'd do it with her pet wolf, the Winter Soldier ready to rule at her side.

She jumps back into fixing restored vigor, but this time she does it clean, only consulting Rumlow on the hardest of cases— still wary after the McFarland incident. This round it's her blazing ardor and gleaming zeal that gets Christina her way. People see the fire in her eyes and feed off the raw vehemence she exhibits, everyone is enraptured by it. She knocks out four cases without a hitch, with merely gusto and determination alone. At work they keep saying that she makes the name _Valkyrie_ ring true.

"You look like you could crush the world beneath your feet again," Deja tells her one day, having joined the blonde for a victory brunch after closing yet another assignment in record time. To be honest she believes the brunette, can feel that flame burning again, the same one she'd been so sure had died years before. The New Year brought it roaring back to life with flaming vengeance.

Christina attributes it to having Winter by her side. For all their sins, they're better when they're together, and she knows it's the reason she'd made such a successful come back. Having him gives her strength and with him on her side, she feels there's nothing she can't do— the world be damned, they could run it all if they wanted. Lucky for the world, the only thing they want is each other.

Winter sees it too whenever they're together, the light that had for a while gone dull is back and his girl is on fire. She's all well-put together, all vitality and exuberance, ready to take the world by the reigns like he's always known back when they she was twenty-four and they'd first met— that she was going to grab life by the balls one day and make it her bitch.

He'd known it when he'd looked at her, even seated on her father's couch that first time with her nude between his booted feet. And, he knows it now. The assassin has every intention of being at her side, helping her along in any way she sees fit. For Christina Pierce he would burn the world.

 _Valkyrie Consultants_ isn't the only place where Christina is a burning inferno. She takes Winter to bed with vigor so renewed that he's sure they'd gone back in time. She's all beautiful and strong, unbridled and unforgiving. The firm is nothing for her because she could set fire to the earth if she wanted to and the Asset would be happy to watch it burn, if for her. He'll set do _anything_ she wanted. There wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't do if for Christina Pierce.

Between missions, and cryo, and rounds in The Chair, he's able to see his girl and it's like seeing a living, breathing goddess. All ethereal and glowing, blonde bombshell who's always ready and willing to welcome him _home_ like he _belongs there_. Like he belongs to her, and hell if he'd ever have it otherwise. Christina is his home, and his life, and his love— if he could ever truly recall the emotion. He takes every single opportunity to try and memorize everything detail about her, should Hydra and the machine rewrites him ever try to take her away.

They always come down like two people shattered, full euphoria and splendor, and so much goddamn admiration and affection that there's no other word for it than love. He revels in that intoxicating scent of pomegranate, buries himself in it, wills himself to remember it. The Soldier decides that no matter his past, whatever mysteries lie what he cannot recall, no matter the evils Hydra had forced him to suffer through— this is exactly where he was meant to be in this universe. Because that would mean he was meant to end up right there with his girl, and he'd give _anything_ to be there with Christina Pierce.

Falling asleep after sex still startles the assassin, especially with the nightmares that creep up his spine and occasionally reign control of his dreams. His lover is a smart girl, who knows better than to touch him during a night terror, she always gives him a wide berth before calling to him from a distance to stir from his horrors. It's safer that way and he's thankful that she knows what to do in those situations. Winter knows he'd never forgive himself if he harmed her in his rousing state, when he goes into Soldier mode and wields that left arm like the deadly weapon that it is. Thankfully it never goes that far. Christina keeps her distance and hums him smoothing reassurances that he's _home,_ that he's _safe_ and he comes out of his clouded delirium without ever causing her too much trouble.

That night is thankfully, not one of those nights. When the dreams turn dark he startles out his nightmare and blinks around the dimly lit bedroom of his lover's apartment, turning to find her lying beside. She isn't curled close— he'd probably rolled out of her reach in the throws of his oncoming night terror— but she's angled toward him, looking like an angel in the moonlight. She dressed in the cutest black lace and polka dot cami and little matching panties, her blonde hair all tousled and flowing around her like a halo, her long eyelashes laid out against her cheeks, soft pink lips parted just the slightest as she inhales and exhales in the quietest of little snores. She's so goddman cute and all his for the taking.

Christina is nudged awake by Winter's insistent mouth, kissing her back to life and then tracing those kisses down her jaw and throat. She giggles in the dark, like the gentle sound of a wind chime filling his ears, as she reaches up at tangles her fingers in his brunette locks. "Mmm," He groans, rolling over on top of her and damn near swallowing her whole in his kiss. When he pulls back he bumps his nose against hers affectionately, "You are the most beautiful fuckin' thing I've ever seen, _solnyshka moyo_."

Smiling up at him sleepily, the petite blonde brushes his long hair away from his face, tucking the dark strands behind his ears, "I could say the same about you." Winter grins, plasters himself against her front and places numerous possessive pecks along the length of her neck. Christina giggles, wraps her arms around him and begins combing her fingers through the tangled ends of his hair, even as those insistent kisses travel down to her clavicle.

Before she knows it, he's tugging down the straps of her cami, exposing her chest and leaving little love bites on her breasts. Her hands drift over his shoulders, one of them coming down to rest on his waist and fiddling with the band of his boxer briefs, moaning as he colors her chest with hickies. Finally she pushes the black material down and then she parts her thighs, allowing him to follow suite with her own underwear. She raises her knees, legs coming up to lock around his hips as Winter breaches her folds, making her moan and clutch at his shoulders.

Christina can already tell it's going to be one of their more intense escapades. In the way he watches her face as he eases inside of her, his little breathless moan and the way he leans in to nudge their noses together. "You with me, doll?" Winter voice is soft, his lips brushing intimately over hers without actually kissing her. She hums, nodding minutely and then kissing him hard as he starts fucking into her. _God,_ is he good at unmaking her.

But, it's not as if she's the only who's weak for the other between them. Winter releases a stuttering breath, feeling the tight warmth of her sweet cunt around him. She feels so good, absolutely perfect for him, like she does every single time. It's all so, so good. With the Asset hunched over her, all of him pushing, and pressing, and pounding into her with earnest. He groans, hastening his pace, and driving her right into her first climax.

Christina is boneless beneath him, mewling and clutching, and crying out as he fucks her. Winter maintains eye contact, steel blue blazing into her cerulean eyes with each thrust. He loves it, the way she comes apart for him so simply every time. " _Mine,_ " He's reminds her, pecking her mouth and pounding precisely into that spot that has her screaming for him. His lover takes it all greedily, eagerly meeting his punishing rhythm.

She hisses and whines, scores the length of his back with her sharp little nails and pleads in his ear. A whispered mantra of " _Yes, yes, yes._ " And, " _Yours, all yours._ " It makes the raw, possessive animal in him swell with pride and it drags straight into his own orgasm, pulling him under and spilling inside her. Roaring, growling, and grunting his pleasure into the sweat slick curve of her throat. And then she's coming again, breath catching in her throat and burning in her chest, her back arching off the mattress as he pins her thighs wide open in the iron grip of his metal hand.

Winter settles down atop her, like a human blanket plastered over her front, his nose tucked into the hickey speckled curve of her neck and his arms locked around her little frame. They come down from their high in heavy, panting breaths, still clinging to each other. "Did you have another bad dream?" She questions as he pets his damp hair. Winter shakes his head, breathing in the fruity smell of her body wash and shampoo along with their sweat. "Started to, woke myself up." He answers plainly. Her chest rumbles lightly as she hums, her steady heartbeat soothing him. "They're worth it," He tells her, "As long as I get to wake up next you." And, they that hope that all this good will continue.

It, _of course_ , does not. Christina is still coining case after case and nailing them without even working up a sweat. But, the wake up call comes ringing in March when a picture of blonde hair and blue eyes is plastered on the front page of articles from the Times to the Washington Post, running barefoot through Times Square. Captain America is alive and well, despite almost seventy years frozen in suspended animation in the Arctic. It doesn't start any sort of chain reaction that Christina can see, but it does mark the end of better days, even if none of them know it.

The couple goes on their merry way none the wiser for two months, continuing to partake in their habitual trysts and the usual business. All is special ops missions and then steamy rendezvous, trying legal battles and then amorous sentiment. They continue doing what is normal until they can no longer pretend that normal exists anymore. That day comes in May.

It starts on a day like any other day. Christina is having a girl's day curled up on her couch with Deja and Winter is somewhere on a mission in the northern reaches of the Mediterranean, when a Norse god is sent through a wormhole, wielding a scepter with the ability to enslave anyone it touches. He steals an ancient power source from outside their world, known as the Tesseract and plans to use it to take over Earth and mankind along with it. The public knows little about his schemes as they occur, that is of course until a great, vast wormhole opens over the Manhattan sky. Suddenly the world is no long what they'd known.

It becomes monsters, and magic, and aliens sweeping the streets of New York City and systematically wiping out every human who's path they cross. And, who is there to challenge them but the Earth's own person freakshow? A group the government is calling _The Avengers_ , consisting of a Tony Stark's Iron Man, a Norse god, two master assassins, and a scientist turned science experiment, all of whom are led by _The Star Spangled Man With a Plan_ himself, Captain America.

Christina and Deja watch the newscast in horror as footage of armageddon in the streets plays on every television channel from local to international. There isn't a corner of the work that doesn't know what's going in New York City, except NYC itself. Christina watches, terror stricken, as the broadcaster announces the launching of a missile headed straight for the Island of Manhattan, knowing it'd been authorized by the World Security Council and in turn her father.

She let's her best friend cry, and scream, and cling to her in fear that her fiancé may never return home from his business trip to the city currently under attack. Hours of fear, worry, and panic later Aarav's phone call finally makes it through the airwaves, letting them know that he and Adam had safely made it over the pond to Queens before the invasion had gotten bad. The knowledge that their friends are safe and sound awaiting the soonest outbound flight at John F. Kennedy International Airport for Washington D.C. has them crying different kind of tears. The battle's over, the aliens are gone, but nothing's ever the same again.

And, it isn't. After _The Battle of New York_ S.H.I.E.L.D. goes into overdrive, working double time to clean up the mess Loki and his Chitauri army made and leveling up to make sure that they'll be ready for the next attack of such a caliber. The World Security Council is torn into by the House and the UN, which leads to the belt being tightened on her father, as if he's the one that made the call, which he hadn't— in fact Hydra had been eerily quiet in regard to the extraterrestrial invasion. Ultimately, plans are set in motion for something code named _Project Insight_ , which is kept very hush hush, even with Christina.

She doesn't stress over, in Winter's absence she uses the ticket Adam had bought her for Christmas and joins him in NYC. She spends her summer with the resolve that this encounter had shook them— herself, her friend group, the human population in general— that they aren't alone in the world and that people as a unit have to stand together in trying times. A world of monsters, magic, aliens and gods lies beyond the boundary and yet there are still people fighting _each other._

So, for a month and a half she plants herself in the heart of giving back to the people, stays with Adam and his lovely new girlfriend at their apartment just outside Manhattan and she volunteers. Christina serves food at shelters, shovels debris in restoration sites, takes in the sheer destruction of it all, but sees first hand the sense of _community_. People far and wide, from all over the country and the world, come to help out in the Big Apple. And, the New Yorkers? They do what they've done before, at a different wreckage, for a different tragedy, they _go on with their lives_ , but that doesn't mean they forget.

Everywhere Christina goes that summer, be it in New York or even once she returns to D.C., the immense, indescribable gratitude to _Earth's Mightiest Heroes_ is everywhere she goes. In murals painted street side, in art hung in galleries, in cookies sold at every bakery and every cafe, in tee shirts worn by appreciative civilians that want the world, and _The Avengers_ to know that America and her people are _thankful they exist_.

Come July the Winter Soldier returns to _The Vault_ from intercontinental operations and is greeted by his lover more warmly than she ever has. The attack on New York, seeing the devastation there, having brushed so close to losing two of her closest friends, has Christina holding her value for Winter at astounding levels. She's never been more anxious to see him in these last few months than she has as long as she's known him. _Because she loves him and wants him home, wants him safe_.

The next several weeks are a blur of haphazard sneaking around The Vault and unexpected drop-byes to his lover's apartment. There's hot, needy, unbridled sex in the holding bay, with hands clamped over their mouths to keep from getting caught. There's rushed, hurried, quickies in various conference rooms. There's the slow, languid lovemaking in her bedroom where he holds her after and tells her pretty truths that neither ever realize won't come true.

It's nearly a quarter after midnight when Christina Pierce is startled on the sidewalk as she makes her way from the _Valkyrie_ offices to one of her favorite nearby eats, a Lebanese fast-food place called _Muncheez Mania_. A place that she often frequents during overtime at the office. If not because of the late night hours, then because they offer the best shawarma, falafel, mezzes, and what-not in Georgetown.

She's only a block over from the restaurant when she's caught by surprise and tugged off the main street, into a shadowed side alley. The blonde immediately goes into defense mode, the way that Rumlow had taught her, ready for her assailant to pin her so that she could take counter measures to fight then off. But no mugging or groping or attack ever comes. Looking up at the man who'd pulled her aside, she finds the Winter Soldier towering over her, peering out from under a black baseball cap with a smug grin on his face.

The brooding giant is dressed in civilian clothes; an army green hoodie, zipped up over a black tee shirt and paired with a pair of dark wash jeans. Christina recognizes the garments as items from the back of her closet and concludes that he'd gone to the apartment before coming out to find her. "Hi," greets the petite woman happily, wrapping her arms around the assassin and leaning up on her toes to kiss him. Her lover greedily excepts the contact, drinks her in like a man starved before pulling back and touching his forehead to hers.

"You didn't wanna wait at home?" She questions, reaching out to tuck the long hair that falls into his eyes behind his ears. Winter shakes his head, bumps their noses together. "I wait a long time." insists the Asset, "Needed you." The admission has the woman smiling and kissing him again. It's so dark, nearly one o'clock in the morning, in a dimly lit nook, and still Christina's smile lights up the dark like the goddamn sun. Hence her nickname— his sunshine— because from the moment they'd met she'd brought light into every corner of his life.

His lover's rumbling tummy is what eventually drags them back to the task at hand. The pair walks hand in hand to the restaurant, shoulders bumping all content, soaking up sweet affection in the simplicity of walking down the street side by side. Like real people do. Winter opens the door for her, the way any woman's lover would, and curls around her shoulder as they enter the mostly empty shop. The queue is short and the assassin hangs back, using the cover of his cap and ducking his face into the curve of Christina's neck. They are just two people— an average, affectionate couple— waiting in line to order. Like real people do.

They take their meal to-go and backtrack to the woman's office, ducking security cameras and treading lightly in the empty building. All of her colleagues have long gone home and so they curl up on her couch and share spoonfuls of turmeric rice and shwarma between bubbling laughter and the occasion make-out break. It's so goddamn _normal_ , like they're just a couple of people in love, not two prisoners to the clutches on Hydra. Like their lives aren't built on blood and lies. Like they're _free_ ,if only for a few hours together. Like just months ago reality hadn't been fractured in little shards by a great, horrible tear in the sky and what had come through it.

When the takeout boxes are picked dry Christina tosses them in her trash can and curls into Winter's ready embrace. _God,_ she loves the sickeningly domestic stuff. She settles into Winter's embrace, really and truly praying that a day will come that occurrences like these are the norm for them. Like real people have.

At the beginning of August Aarav and Deja resolve nothing can keep them apart, come alien attacks on New York, come hell or high water— nothing can keep them from being together. Christina only wishes the same could be said for her and Winter's future. She's forced to balance trying cases at the firm, sneaking around with Winter, and planning a wedding all on her plate when the couple announce they're moving up their wedding date.

It's needless to say that this summer is running Christina ragged and having only half of the planning period than they'd intended stresses her out to no end. Unlike the bride-to-be, who is so head over heels in love and brimming with enthusiasm. While head-in-the-clouds is busy day dreaming, her best friend gets in gear.

Christina manages to maintain her training regime with Rumlow, though even he is busy following the attack on New York. She starts a planning binder for Deja and works two cases side by side. She has lunches with her father and late nights being fucked under the Winter Soldier. She works out a wedding budget with Aarav and leads the case against a police officer accused of sexual assault. She writes out the ceremony attendees, makes a seating chart, and picks three invitations for the couple to pick from.

Officially dubbed the _Queen of Multitasking_ by her friends; she closes a case of false child abuse against a high profile divorced couple, helps finds the ceremony and reception venues, books the officiant, even manages to throw an Deja an engagement party, all while tiptoeing around with Winter. By mid-August she's exhausted, a little sick, and extremely stressed out.

Which is why she doesn't hear or notice when the Winter Soldier slips into her apartment. Slipping in via the balcony, the assassin finds practically every light in her apartment on as he enters. He settles on the couch, fingers making quick work of his tactical gear before leaning over to unfastened his boots. Setting them by the balcony door, he strips off the rest of his gear without a sound; his utility belt, his weapons. He leaves his coat and weaponry at the breakfast bar before padding through the living room in search of Christina.

Articles of clothing are discarded across the carpet, a navy pantsuit, a black tank top, her strappy heels. The Asset can hear her mumbling from her bed as he follows the trail of clothes into her room. Thoughts of climbing into bed and wrapping the little blonde in his arms make him giddy and almost relieved to be home. He finds his lover lying on her stomach on the center of her mattress, papers and clippings surrounding her as she types away on her laptop. He grins at the sight of her, dressed in a heather grey robe, open wide and revealing the set of lingerie she'd donned for the day— scalloped black lace and blue accents. She'd been too busy to change out of them and find herself some pajamas. She's perfect, every thing he'd never known he'd wanted, but _God knows he wants her_.

"You're home?" Christina greets, without actually looking up from whatever she's typing on her laptop. Winter offers her an affirmative grunt, removing his fatigues before joining her on the bed. She makes quick work of her mess, tidying the wedding plans and putting away her laptop. The bed creaks when he slips in beside her, pulling her firmly up against his solid body with his flesh-and-bone arm. The blonde giggles as he nuzzles the curve of her neck, drinking in fruit and pomegranate with an content hum against her skin.

Watching her heavy eyelids, Winter peaks the corner of her mouth before reaching around to turn her chin. "Tired?" He questions, kissing her square on the mouth. A little content moan leaves her throat, fingers coming back to curl in his hair. They pull apart after a moment and Christina rolls to face him properly, "It's been a long month. I'm so busy with work and my friend's wedding," His girl begins to explain and the Soldier feels a little guilty. He'd kept her rather busy too, "And me," Winter adds.

The twenty-seven year old down right chortles, peaking his mouth again, "Well you are always wearing me out, babe." Teases the petite seductress, giving him that playful grin. A smirk works it's way onto the assassin's mouth and he finds himself shaking his head, "That so, doll?" Christina nods, shifting onto her knees and moving to straddle him. "It is,"

As she settles on his hips, Winter yanks her down over him, hungry for another kiss but gives pause at the sudden weary look on her face. Freezing, he watches her steady herself. Her palms flatten on his chest and her eyebrows furrow. For a moment a million thoughts run through his mind before her eyes open and pretty cerulean irises land on him sheepishly. "Sorry," begs the blonde, leaning in and pressing her forehead against his, "Got queasy there for a sec."

Winter is thankful that's all it was, after all he could sometimes get ahead of himself. Christina is soft, fragile thing and occasionally he's rougher with his metal hand than he means to be. Hands coming up to soft trace the hem of her panties, the Asset brushes his noses against hers. "Motion sick?" He questions softly, all gentle caresses and lingering touch. His lover hums in agreement, timid kisses brushing his mouth. He accepts them readily until she pulls back for air.

"Then rest," the Winter Soldier advises, but it has Christina shaking her head softly. "Want you." And, he'd be damned if he didn't give the girl what she wants. Hell, if she wanted him to light the world on fire he'd do it without a second thought. Nodding along, he wraps his arms around her reassuringly, "We'll go slow."

As slow goes, Winter takes his sweet time kissing her. He pushes her robe open further, pushes down the cups of her bra and reveals her breasts. Painting her chest with hickies and cover her nipples with his warm mouth, the assassin has Christina coming apart under his gentle caresses. He nudges off her panties, throwing them over his shoulder and then he's lifting her up slowly. Leaning back to work down his boxer-briefs and spreading his knees, he takes his hefty length in hand and helping her to sink down him. The heat of her all comsumming, strangling tight around his cock, his thighs cupping her ass as she settles on him down to the hilt.

" _Fuck,_ " Winter pants into her skin, holding her close. Little uncontrollable moans leaving his sinful mouth as he's fully seated in her, bottoming out before he even starts to properly fuck her. He watches her face, sees every emotion flickering over it, before he holds her steady above him, her knees planted on either side of his hips. Fucking up into her tight, suffocating heat, the Soldier groans and tries to reign in his starving enthusiasm. Giving his girl a cautionary glance, Winter chokes down his furious need. He'd promised to take it slow.

Christina whines when he turns them over, she'd wanted to be on top, but thinks better of it. For days now she'd been feeling odd, overworked, and essentially running on fumes. For weeks she's felt worn and fatigued, nauseated, and moody, but blames it all on her packed schedule and a lack of concern for her own well being. Settling her carefully on her back, Winter is mindful of her equilibrium, making sure not to jostle her too much as he settles between her thighs and eases back inside of her.

" _Winter, please,_ " whines Christina, reaching up to cup his cheeks. The assassin kisses her again, covers her mouth with his before picking up a steady pace. His hands come up to mirror his lovers, cupping her jaw and tilting her face to better kiss her. "I know, _dorogaya_. I know," He murmurs, reveling in the way she goes lax and melts beneath him. Groaning as he feels her walls pulse around his cock, so sweet and sensitive, he nuzzles his face into her neck and fucks into her. He tries to maintain a restrained pace, forcing himself not to pound into her.

Boneless beneath him, Christina can do nothing more than mewl, clinging to Winter's shoulders as she lies back and takes every inch of him thrust for thrust. He listens to her whining in his ear, murmuring little urges and encouragements. The Asset feels himself swelling with emotion, longs to tell her how much he needs her, how much he missed her. Words like _love_ heavy on his tongue as he stares down at the beautiful woman falling to pieces beneath him.

Eye contact turns the Winter Soldier into a soft vulnerable thing. There is nothing about Christina Pierce that he isn't amazed by every time he lays eyes on her, that he isn't thankful for every time they're together; there is nothing about her that he doesn't love. And, _god knows_ that's what it is— if he could the feel the emotion, he knows he'd only feel it for her. Winter watches her with hooded eyes, gaze all hungry and lust ridden.

Fucking her is Winter's favorite thing, he loves the tight heat of her, the way she clings to his shoulders and tugs his hair, her way she sighs against mouth, kisses him with her petal lips. Christina is a flower, by any other name she's still as sweet, all tenderness and love. And, only Winter can make her bloom.

Slamming into orgasm like a freight train on a collision course of doom, the blonde cries out as her lover fucks through it. It's all so good, the feel of him, all big and rough, trembling hands clasping for purchase — bruising fingers sinking in her skin and burying deep in the core of her— making a home where she can't ever erase him. Winter follows her over the edge faster than he'd expected to, but he knows it'd been her eyes— blazing cerulean gems all brimming with admiration and warmth pulling him along with the feel the warm, tender, fondness. He will never understand the nature of endearment, of sentiment, but he knows he'd give everything to continue feeling this way with her.

After all Christina is warm and real. Not a memory or a dream, but a tangible thing that is soft and yielding and true, something he can touch. And, touch he does. Fucking through his climax and clinging with bruising necessity, filling her up to the brim and then collapsing atop her. Winter can feel the tension leaving him, becomes little more than lax bones and skin. He feels her pulling him closer, skin warm and sweet pressed against his.

Tangled up in each other, the pair begin to sink into the tranquil daze of slumber, tired eyes fighting the tantalizing seduction of rest. The weight of the past month rolls off Christina's shoulders, curled with her lover, the aftermath of thorough fucking and the ache of spent adrenaline sinking deep into their bones. Come daylight all the bitter will return with a vengence for them both— the stress, the guilt— but the prospect of being able to face it together is both promising and reassuring.

In the background the TV drones quietly, filling the empty space left by the silence— panting aside. A late night broadcast plays over the TV, footage of the _Battle of New York_ flashing across the television screen, "The world is so strange these days," Mutters the spent blonde, kissing the top of Winter's head. The assassin chuckles, burying his face in her neck greedily, "I don't fucking care about any of it," He tells her, "As long as I'm with you."

But, he isn't for long. August draws on and Hydra makes the decision that the Winter Soldier will return to major operations in Russia. Christina cries for days afterwards. She hadn't even been able to see him off, those bastards. But, she holds it together well enough, despite being sick as a dog and busy out of her mind. Work is as work always is, draining on the conscious and taxing on the soul. She doesn't have the time to stress on that though, what with her with very persistent stomach flu and Deja's big day rounding the bend.

Her best friend's wedding is the single most terrifying and beautiful process that the blonde has ever endured. Their wedding experience is a mix of Deja's western traditions and Aarav's Indian roots. It's a whirlwind three day process divided into three parts: pre-wedding, main, and post-wedding. On day one Christina joins Rumlow for their routine jog, showers at the Triskelion gym before picking up breakfast and going to wake up the bride-to-be.

She's able to wrangle her best friend into the shower while preparing everything Deja might need and double checking their itinerary as she eats breakfast. Afterwards they climb into the car, the bride stuffing her face with food as Christina drives them to the salon to get started on hair, makeup, and nails. They spent all day on the pre-wedding details, which includes all the preparations and a party the night before where each side of the family can meet each other, dance and have fun. Someone called a _Pandit_ conducts a prayer with family members to provide the couple with a happily married life.

Day two is ceremony day, which includes some Indian traditions and some American traditions. Come 4:30 that afternoon Christina falls in line with the other bridesmaids for the on coming wedding procession. For the past half hour guests have been settling in at the Heurich House garden where Deja's ceremony is being held. The wedding begins and the bridesmaids file out, Adam and Christina going last, as Best Man and Maid of Honor.

After Deja's lead out on her father's arm, a vision in white in her lace bodice wedding gown, the ceremony flies by. Before she knows it they're all filing into the conservatory for the wedding reception. A lovely five hour celebration that makes Christina more sick that it does excited. At first it's sweet bride and groom's first dance, the father-daughter, all the traditional line up before they open the floor for everyone to party. Eventually the rowdy crowd, the blaring music, and thumping bass give her a tension headache so vicious she has to take a seat in the dining room.

That's when the smell of the Mediterranean stuffed chicken gets to her. Christina had chosen avocado pomegranate crostinis and mushroom ragout penne as her dinner selection so the sudden onslaught on cooked chicken has her near retching. She's out of her seat, across the room, and around the corner before anyone can even ask her what's the matter. Skidding to her knees in her burgundy chiffon gown, the blonde beelines to the nearest toilet stall and slams into the tile floor, vomiting straight into the porcelain bowl. That night there's no one to hold her hair, so she's grateful for the pretty, twisted updo Deja had demanded all the bridesmaids have. And, as she's heaving and gagging only inches over the toilet water, the realization hits the twenty-seven year old like a train.

As Christina pads back and fourth in her bathroom anxiously, she tries to think over the last several months. It's gotta be stomach flu or something, a very determined virus perhaps. For nearly four weeks she's been moody, sore, and queasy. But, that doesn't necessarily mean what she thinks it might mean. She could very well just be sick. It could very well be a bug, or food poisoning, _anything_.

Why hadn't she expected this? Or prepared for this? Sure, condoms were something they would use on occasion— given they had one available and they weren't in too big a hurry. The concern was always present, she'd taken morning after pills like a kid popping candy, but she supposes they hadn't ever had the time to really think about it. A part of her wonders if Winter can even have children? They hadn't sterilized him? Maybe they'd thought that considering the only time he's ever left unsupervised is either in cryo, on stand by, or on missions it wouldn't be necessary.

Eventually the timer on Christina's cell phone rings, tearing her away from her endless pacing, burning tread marks into the tile. She plops down on the toilet seat, twitchy and anxious as she picks up the little white stick in search of the answer she already knows. Of course, it's right on the money.

Dropping her head into her waiting palms, she rubs her hands down her face and exhales shakily. Setting the plastic applicator down in the pile of similar used devices her counter top. Christina glances at the collection, a slew of plus signs and single words staring back at her. Two syllables, eight letters. One road to her new future or the end of her life. Pregnant. " _Fuck_."

* * *

 _Russian Translations:_  
 _*dorogaya (дорогая) — darling, sweetheart, dear_  
 _*solnyshka moyo (Солнышко моё) — my sunshine_

 _The poem in the summary is titled "End of Winter" by Louise Glück and I thought it was perfect for this. We've come to the end of part one of the "Of Arils (and Other Forbidden Fruit)" series, the second installment "Pomegranate Kin" will be coming with in the next week or so._

 _How many of you saw this cliff hanger coming? How do you feel about it? Are you curious enough to continue reading part two? Are we liking this direction I'm taking or do we have reservations? What would we like to see of part two? The beginning is very concrete atm but after our pair is reunited I have a ton of wiggle room as nothing is set in stone for that part as of right now. So what are we hoping for our couples future?_

 _Let me know your thoughts! Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you all kindly for reading and sticking it out with me for this long. Sincerely, Rachel._


End file.
